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•~n 

ALVMNVS  BOOK  FYND 


FRKD  M.  l)K>Vrn 


HOEACE    CHASE 


B  movel 


CONSTANCE  FENIMORE  WOOLSON 

AUTHOR  OF  "JUPITER  LIGHTS"  "EAST  ANGELS"  ETC. 


NEW    YORK 
HARPER    &    BROTHERS    PUBLISHERS 

1894 


Copyright,  1894,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 

All  rights  reserved. 


HORACE    CHASE 


CHAPTER    I 

IN  a  mountain  village  of  North  Carolina,  in  the 
year  1873,  the  spring  had  opened  with  its  accus 
tomed  beauty.  But  one  day  there  came  a  pure  cold 
wind  which  swept  through  the  high  valley  at  tre 
mendous  speed  from  dawn  to  midnight.  People 
who  never  succumb  to  mere  comfort  did  not  relight 
their  fires.  But  to  the  Franklin  family  comfort  was 
a  goddess,  they  would  never  have  thought  of  calling 
her."  mere  "  ;  "  delightful  "  was  their  word,  and  Ruth 
would  probably  have  said  "  delicious."  The  fire  in 
Mrs.  Franklin's  parlor,  therefore,  having  been  piled 
with  fresh  logs  at  two  o'clock  as  an  offering  to  this 
deity,  was  now,  at  four,  sending  out  a  ruddy  glow. 
It  was  a  fire  which  called  forth  Ruth's  highest  ap 
probation  when  she  came  in,  followed  by  her  dog, 
Petie  Trone,  Esq.  Not  that  Ruth  had  been  facing 
the  blast  ;  she  never  went  out  from  a  sense  of  duty, 
and  for  her  there  was  no  pleasure  in  doing  battle 
with  things  that  were  disagreeable  for  the  sake  mere 
ly  of  conquering  them.  Ruth  had  come  from  her 

417630 


own  voc!>m,  where  there  was  a  fire  also,  but  one  not 
so  generous  as  this,  for  here  the  old-fashioned  hearth 
was  broad  and  deep.  The  girl  sat  down  on  the  rug 
before  the  blaze,  and  then,  after  a  moment,  she 
stretched  herself  out  at  full  length  there,  with  her 
head  resting  on  her  arm  thrown  back  behind  it. 

"  It's  a  pity,  Ruth,  that  with  all  your  little  ways, 
you  are  not  little  yourself,"  remarked  Dolly  Frank 
lin,  the  elder  sister.  "  Such  a  whalelike  creature 
sprawled  on  the  floor  isn't  endearing ;  it  looks  like 
something  out  of  Gulliver." 

"  It's  always  so,"  observed  Mrs.  Franklin,  drowsily. 
"  It's  the  oddest  thing  in  the  world — but  people 
never  will  stay  in  character  ;  they  want  to  be  some 
thing  different.  Don't  you  remember  that  whenever 
poor  Sue  Inness  was  asked  to  sing,  the  wee  little 
creature  invariably  chanted, '  Here's  a  health  to  King 
Charles,'  in  as  martial  a  voice  as  she  could  summon  ? 
Whereas  Lucia  Lewis,  who  is  as  big  as  a  grenadier, 
always  warbles  softly  some  such  thing  as  '  Call  me 
pet  names,  dearest.  Call  me  a  bird.'  Bird !  Mas 
todon  would  do  better." 

"  Mastodon  ?"  Ruth  commented.  "  It  is  evident, 
His  Grand,  that  you  have  seen  Miss  Billy  to-day !" 

Ruth  was  not  a  whale,  in  spite  of  Dolly's  asser 
tion.  But  she  was  tall,  her  shoulders  had  a  marked 
breadth,  and  her  arms  were  long.  She  was  very  slen 
der  and  supple,  and  this  slenderness,  together  with 
her  small  hands  and  feet,  took  away  all  idea  of  maj 
esty  in  connection  with  her,  tall  though  she  was  ;  one 


did  not  think  of  majesty,  but  rather  of  girlish  merri 
ment  and  girlish  activity.  And  girlish  indolence  as 
well.  Mrs.  Franklin  had  once  said  :  "  Ruth  is  either 
running,  or  jumping,  or  doing  something  in  such  haste 
that  she  is  breathless ;  or  else  she  is  stretched  out 
at  full  length  on  the  carpet  or  the  sofa,  looking  as 
though  she  never  intended  to  move  again !" 

The  girl  had  a  dark  complexion  with  a  rich  color, 
and  hair  that  was  almost  black  ;  her  face  was  lighted 
by  blue  eyes,  with  long  thick  black  lashes  which  made 
a  dark  fringe  round  the  blue.  The  persons  who  liked 
Ruth  thought  her  beautiful ;  they  asserted  that  her 
countenance  had  in  it  something  which  was  captivat 
ing.  But  others  replied  that  though  her  friends 
might  call  her  captivating  if  they  pleased,  since  that 
word  denotes  merely  a  personal  charm,  they  had  no 
right  to  say  that  she  was  beautiful ;  for  as  regards 
beauty,  there  are  well-defined  rules,  and,  with  the  ex 
ception  of  her  wonderful  eyes,  the  face  of  the  second 
Miss  Franklin  transgressed  every  one  of  these  canons. 
Ruth's  features  were  without  doubt  irregular.  And 
especially  was  it  true  that  her  mouth  was  large.  But 
the  lips  were  exquisitely  cut,  and  the  teeth  very  white. 
Regarding  her  appearance  as  a  whole,  there  was  a 
fact  which  had  not  as  yet  been  noticed,  namely,  that 
no  man  ever  found  fault  with  it ;  the  criticism  came 
always  from  feminine  lips.  And  these  critics  spoke 
the  truth  ;  but  they  forgot,  or  rather  they  did  not  see, 
some  of  the  compensations.  There  were  people  not 
a  few,  even  in  her  own  small  circle,  who  did  not  look 


with  favor  upon  Ruth  Franklin ;  it  was  not  merely,  so 
they  asserted,  that  she  was  heedless  and  frivolous, 
caring  only  for  her  own  amusement,  and  sacrificing 
everything  to  that,  for  of  many  young  persons  this 
could  be  said  ;  but  they  maintained  in  addition 
that  hers  was  a  disposition  in  its  essence  self-in 
dulgent  ;  she  was  indolent ;  she  was  fond  of  luxu 
ries  ;  she  was  even  fond  of  "good  eating" — an  odd 
accusation  to  be  brought  against  a  girl  of  that  age. 
In  this  case  also  the  charges  were  made  by  fem 
inine  lips.  And  again  it  may  be  added  that  while 
these  critics  spoke  the  truth,  or  part  of  the  truth, 
they  did  not,  on  the  other  hand,  see  some  of  the 
compensations. 

"  Why  do  you  say  *  poor  Sue  Inness,'  His  Grand  ?" 
inquired  Dolly,  in  an  expostulating  tone.  "  Why  do 
people  always  say  'poor'  so-and-so,  of  any  one  who 
is  dead  ?  It  is  an  alarmingly  pitying  word ;  as 
though  the  unfortunate  departed  must  certainly  be 
in  a  very  bad  place  !" 

"  Here  is  something  about  the  bishop,"  said  Mrs. 
Franklin,  who  was  reading  a  Raleigh  newspaper  in 
the  intervals  of  conversation.  Her  tone  was  now 
animated.  "  He  has  been  in  Washington,  and  one 
of  his  sermons  was — " 

But  she  was  interrupted  by  her  daughters,  who 
united  their  voices  in  a  chant  as  follows : 

"Mother  Franklin  thinks, 
That  General  Jackson, 
Jarcd  the  Sixth, 


Macaroon  custards, 
And  Bishop  Carew, 
Are  per-/ec-tion  !" 

Mrs.  Franklin  made  no  reply  to  these  Gregorian 
assertions  (which  she  had  often  heard  before),  save 
the  remark,  "  You  have  torn  your  skirt,  Ruth." 

"  Oh,  please  don't  look  at  me  over  your  glasses, 
His  Grand.  It  spoils  your  profile  so,"  answe-red 
Ruth  ;  for  Mrs.  Franklin  was  surveying  the  skirt 
with  her  head  bent  forward  and  her  chin  drawn 
sharply  in,  so  that  her  eyes  could  be  brought  to  bear 
upon  the  rent  over  her  spectacles. 

She  now  drew  off  these  aids  to  vision  impatient 
ly.  "  Whether  I  look  through  them  or  over  them 
doesn't  matter;  you  and  Dolly  are  never  satisfied. 
I  cannot  read  the  paper  without  my  glasses ;  do 
you  wish  me  to  know  nothing  of  the  news  of  the 
world  ?" 

"We'll  tell  you,"  responded  Dolly,  going  on  busily 
with  her  knitting.  "For  instance,  to-day:  Gene- 
vieve  has  had  all  the  paint  cleaned  and  all  the  win 
dows  washed ;  she  is  now  breathing  that  righteous 
atmosphere  of  cold,  fireless  bleakness  and  soap  which 
she  adores.  Miss  Billy  Breeze  has  admired  every 
thing  that  she  can  think  of,  because  admiration  is  so 
uplifting.  And  she  has  written  another  page  about 
the  primeval  world  ;  now  she — " 

Here  the  door  which  led  to  the  entrance-hall  was 
opened  with  a  jerk  by  Linda,  a  plump  negro  girl, 
who  bounced  in,  ejaculated  "  Lady !"  in  a  congratu- 


latory  tone,  and  then  bounced  out  to  act  as  usher  for 
the  incoming  guest. 

"  Billy  herself,  probably,"  said  Mrs.  Franklin. 
"Ruth,  are  you  stretched  out  there  under  the  plea 
that  you  are  not  yet  fully  grown  ?" 

But  Ruth  did  not  deem  it  necessary  to  leave  her 
couch  for  Miss  Billy  Breeze.  "  Hail,  Billy  !"  she 
said,  as  the  visitor  entered.  "Mother  thinks  that  I 
ought  to  be  seated  politely  on  the  sofa ;  will  you 
please  imagine  that  I  am  there  ?" 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  replied  Miss  Breeze,  in  a  concili 
atory  tone.  Miss  Breeze  lived  under  the  impression 
that  the  members  of  this  family  quarrelled  with  each 
other  almost  incessantly ;  when  she  was  present, 
therefore,  she  did  her  best  to  smooth  over  their  as 
perities.  "  It  is  rather  good  for  her,  you  know," 
she  said  reassuringly  to  Mrs.  Franklin ;  "  for  it  is  a 
windy  day,  and  Ruth  is  not  robust."  Then  to  Ruth  : 
"Your  mother  naturally  wishes  you  to  look  your 
best,  my  dear." 

"  Do  you,  His  Grand  ?"  inquired  Ruth.  "  Because 
if  you  do,  I  must  certainly  stay  where  I  am,  so  that 
I  can  tuck  under  me,  very  neatly,  this  rip  in  my 
skirt,  which  Miss  Billy  has  not  yet  seen.  Pctic 
Trone,  Esq.,  shake  hands  with  the  lady."  The  dog, 
a  small  black -and -tan  terrier,  was  reposing  on  the 
rug  beside  Ruth  ;  upon  hearing  her  command,  he 
trotted  across  to  the  visitor,  and  offered  a  tiny 
paw. 

"  Dear  little  fellow,"  said  Miss  Breeze,  bending, 


and  shaking  it  gently.  "  His  Grand  must  allow  that 
lie  looks  extremely  well?" 

For  the  circle  of  friends  had  ended  by  accepting 
the  legend  (invented  by  Kuth)  that  Mrs.  Franklin 
was  Petie  Trone's  grandmother,  or  "  His  Grand." 
The  only  person  who  still  held  out  against  this  title 
was  Gene  vie  ve,  the  daughter-in-law ;  Mrs.  Franklin 
the  younger  thought  that  the  name  was  ridiculous. 
Her  husband's  family  seemed  to  her  incomprehensi 
bly  silly  about  their  pets. 

Miss  Wilhelmina  Breeze  was  thirty -five;  but  no 
one  would  have  thought  so  from  her  fair  pink-and- 
white  complexion,  and  young,  innocent  eyes.  From 
her  earliest  years  she  had  longed  to  hear  herself 
called  "  Wilhelmina."  But  the  longing  was  almost 
never  gratified  ;  the  boyish  name  given  to  her  in 
joke  when  she  was  a  baby  had  clung  to  her  with 
the  usual  fatal  tenacity. 

"  Miss  Billy,  have  you  seen  mother  to-day  ?"  Dolly 
inquired. 

"  Not  until  now,"  answered  the  visitor,  surprised. 

"  Well,  then,  have  you  thought  of  mastodons  ?" 

"  Certainly  I  have ;  and  if  you  yourself,  Dolly, 
would  think  more  seriously  of  the  whole  subject,  the 
primeval  world  —  you  would  soon  be  as  fascinated 
with  it  as  I  am.  Imagine  one  of  those  vast  extinct 
animals,  Dolly,  lifting  his  neck  up  a  hill  to  nibble 
the  trees  on  its  top !"  said  Miss  Breeze  with  enthusi 
asm.  "And  birds  as  large  as  chapels  flying  through 
the  air !  Probably  they  sang,  those  birds.  What 


sort  of  voices  do  you  suppose  they  bad  ?  The  cave- 
lion  was  twenty -nine  feet  high.  The  horned  trycera- 
tops  was  seventy -five  feet  long  !  It  elevates  the  mind 
even  to  think  of  them." 

"You  see,  His  Grand,  that  she  has  thought  of 
mastodons,"  commented  Dolly.  "  Your  unexpected 
mention  of  them,  therefore,  is  plainly  the  influence 
of  her  mind  acting  upon  yours  from  a  distance — the 
distance  of  the  Old  North  Hotel." 

"  Have  you  really  thought  of  them,  dear  Mrs. 
Franklin  ?  And  do  you  believe  there  can  be  such  a 
thing  as  the  conscious  —  I  mean,  of  course,  uncon 
scious —  influence  of  one  mind  upon  another?"  in 
quired  Miss  Billy,  her  face  betraying  a  delighted  ex 
citement. 

"No,  no;  it's  only  Dolly's  nonsense,"  answered 
Mrs.  Franklin. 

"  It's  easy  to  say  nonsense,  His  Grand.  But  how, 
then,  do  you  account  for  the  utterances  of  my  plan- 
chette  ?"  demanded  Dolly,  wagging  her  head  trium 
phantly. 

Dolly,  the  second  of  Mrs.  Franklin's  three  chil 
dren,  was  an  invalid.  The  Franklins,  as  a  family, 
were  tall  and  dark,  and  Dolly  was  tall  and  dark  also  ; 
her  face,  owing  to  the  pain  which  frequently  assailed 
her,  was  thin,  worn,  and  wrinkled.  She  sat  in  a  low 
easy  -  chair,  and  beside  her  was  her  own  especial 
table,  which  held  what  she  called  her  "  jibs."  These 
were  numerous,  for  Dolly  occupied  herself  in  many 
ways.  She  sketched,  she  carved  little  knick-knacks, 


she  played  the  violin  ;  she  made  lace,  she  worked 
out"  chess  problems,  and  she  knitted  ;  she  also  scrib 
bled  rhymes  which  her  family  called  poetry.  The 
mantel-piece  of  this  parlor  was  adorned  with  a  hang 
ing  which  bore  one  of  her  verses,  stitched  in  old 
English  text,  the  work  of  her  mother's  needle : 

"  0  Fire  !  in  these  dark  frozen  days 

So  gracious  is  thy  red, 
So  warm  thy  comfort,  we  forget 
The  violets  are  dead." 

The  family  thought  this  beautiful.  Dolly's  verses, 
her  drawing  and  wood-carving,  her  lace-making  and 
chess,  were  amateurish;  her  violin- playing  was  at 
times  spirited,  and  that  was  the  utmost  that  could  be 
said  of  it.  But  her  knitting  was  remarkable.  She 
knitted  nothing  but  silk  stockings,  and  these,  when 
finished,  had  a  wonderful  perfection.  Dolly  was 
accustomed  to  say  of  herself  that  in  the  heels  of  her 
stockings  was  to  be  found  the  only  bit  of  conscience 
which  she  possessed. 

When  she  mentioned  planchette,  her  mother 
frowned.  "  I  do  not  approve  of  such  things." 

"  Yes,  because  you  are  afraid  !"  chuckled  Dolly. 

"  Oh,  anything  that  dear  Mrs.  Franklin  does  not 
approve  of — "  murmured  Miss  Billy. 

Mrs.  Franklin  rose. 

"  His  Grand  is  fleeing  !"  Dolly  announced,  glee 
fully. 

"  I  must  make  the  salad-dressing,  mustn't  I  ?    Ruth 


10 


will  not  touch  Zoe's  dressing.  Billy,  Mr.  Chase  is  to 
dine  with  us  to  -  day,  informally  ;  don't  you  want  to 
stay  and  help  us  entertain  him  ?"  added  the  mistress 
of  the  house  as  she  left  the  room. 

"  Dolly,"  suggested  Ruth,  from  her  place  on  the 
rug,  "  set  planchette  to  work,  and  make  it  tell  us 
secrets ;  make  it  tell  us  whether  Miss  Billy  under 
stands  the  true  character  of  Achilles  Lame  !" 

"  She  does  not ;  I  can  tell  her  that  without  plan 
chette,"  replied  Dolly.  "  Only  one  person  in  the 
world  has  ever  fully  understood  Achilles — had  the 
strength  to  do  it ;  and  he  died  !" 

"  Yes,  I  know  ;  I  have  heard  Mr.  Lame  speak  of 
that  one  friend,"  said  Miss  Billy,  regretfully.  "  How 
unfortunate  that  he  lost  him !" 

"  Yes,  baddish.  And  the  term  is  quite  in  his  own 
line,"  commented  Dolly.  "  With  him  it  is  never 
warm,  but  warmish  ;  the  bluest  sky  is  bluish  ;  a  June 
day,  fairish;  a  twenty -mile  walk,  longish.  In  this 
way  he  is  not  committed  to  extravagant  statements. 
When  he  is  dead,  he  won't  be  more  than  deadish. 
But  he's  that  now." 

Mrs.  Franklin,  having  made  the  salad-dressing 
(when  she  made  it,  it  was  always  perfection),  re 
turned  to  the  parlor.  "  Ruth,  go  and  change  your 
dress.  Take  Miss  Billy  with  you,  but  take  her  to  my 
room,  not  yours.  For  of  course  you  will  stay,  Billy  ?" 

"  I  don't  think  I'd  better;  I'm  not  dressed  for  the 
evening ;  and  I  said  I  should  be  back,"  answered 
Miss  Breeze,  hesitatingly. 


11 


"To  whom  did  you  say  it?  To  the  Old  North? 
Run  along,"  said  Mrs.  Franklin,  smiling.  "  If  it  is 
shoes  you  are  thinking  of,  as  yours  are  muddy,  Ruth 
can  lend  you  a  pair." 

"  That  she  cannot,"  remarked  Dolly.  "  Buy  Ruth 
six  pairs  of  new  shoes,  and  in  six  days  all  will  be 
shabby.  But  you  can  have  a  pair  of  mine,  Miss 
Billy." 

When  she  was  left  alone  with  her  elder  daughter, 
Mrs.  Franklin  said  :  "  Poor  Billy  !  She  is  always 
haunted  by  the  idea  that  she  may  possibly  meet 
Achilles  Larue  here.  She  certainly  will  not  meet 
him  at  the  Old  North,  for  he  never  goes  near  the 
place,  in  spite  of  her  gentle  invitations.  But  here 
there  is  always  a  chance,  and  I  never  can  resist  giv 
ing  it  to  her,  although  in  reality  it  is  folly ;  he  has 
never  looked  at  her,  and  he  never  will." 

"  No.  But  you  need  not  be  anxious  about  her," 
replied  Dolly  ;  "  she  has  the  happy  faculty  of  living 
in  illusions,  day  after  day.  She  can  go  on  hopefully 
admiring  Achilles  to  the  last  moment  of  her  life,  and 
I  dare  say  she  even  thinks  that  he  has  a  liking  for 
her,  little  as  he  shows  it.  She  has  occult  reasons  for 
this  belief;  she  would  find  them  in  a  kick." 

"Goose!"  said  Mrs.  Franklin,  dismissing  Billy's 
virginal  dreams  with  the  matron's  disillusioned 
knowledge.  "  Aren't  you  going  to  change  your 
dress,  Dolly?" 

"  Why  ?  Am  I  not  tidy  as  I  am  ?  I  thought  you 
considered  me  too  tidv  ?"  And  it  was  true  that  the 


lii 


elder  Miss  Franklin  was  always  a  personification  of 
rigid  neatness  ;  from  the  dark  hair  that  shaded  her 
tired  face,  to  the  shoes  on  her  feet,  all  was  severely 
orderly  and  severely  plain. 

"  Oh,  go,  go  !"  answered  her  mother,  impatiently. 

Dolly  screwed  up  her  mouth,  shook  her  head 
slowly,  and  laid  her  work  aside ;  then  she  rose,  and 
with  her  cane  walked  towards  the  door.  On  her  way 
she  stopped,  and,  bending,  kissed  her  mother's  fore 
head.  "  Some  of  these  days,  mother,  I  shall  be 
beautiful.  It  will  be  during  one  of  our  future  exist 
ences  somewhere.  It  must  be  so,  dear ;  you  have 
earned  it  for  me  by  your  loving  pity  here."  Nothing 
could  exceed  the  tenderness  of  her  tone  as  she  said 
this. 

Mrs.  Franklin  made  no  response  beyond  a  little 
toss  of  her  head,  as  though  repudiating  this  account 
of  herself.  But  after  Dolly  had  left  the  room,  a  moist 
ure  gathered  in  the  mother's  eyes. 

Ruth,  meanwhile,  had  conducted  Miss  Billy  to  her 
own  chamber. 

"  But  Mrs.  Franklin  said  I  was  to  go  to  her  room  ?" 
suggested  the  guest. 

"  She  doesn't  mind ;  she  only  meant  that  Bob  is 
probably  here,"  answered  Ruth,  as  she  opened  the 
windows  and  threw  back  the  blinds ;  for  the  after 
noon  was  drawing  towards  its  close. 

Miss  Billy  took  off  her  bonnet,  and,  after  a  mo 
ment's  thought,  hung  it  by  its  crown  on  a  peg ;  in 
that  position  it  did  not  seem  possible  that  even  Bob 


13 


could  make  a  resting-place  within  it.  Bob  was  young 
and  very  small.  He  was  beautiful  or  devilish  ac 
cording  to  one's  view  of  flying-squirrels.  But  whether 
you  liked  him  or  whether  you  hated  him,  there  was 
always  a  certain  amount  of  interest  in  connection 
with  the  creature,  because  you  could  never  be  sure 
where  he  was.  Miss  Billy,  who  was  greatly  afraid 
of  him,  had  given  a  quick  look  towards  the  tops  of 
the  windows  and  doors.  There  was  no  squirrel  vis 
ible.  But  that  was  small  comfort ;  Bob  could  hide 
himself  behind  a  curtain-ring  when  he  chose.  One  of 
the  blinds  came  swinging  to  with  a  bang,  and  Ruth, 
reopening  the  window,  struggled  with  it  again. 
"  There  is  Mr.  Hill  coming  along  the  back  street  on 
Daniel,"  she  said,  pausing.  "  He  is  beckoning  to  me  ! 
What  can  he  want  ?  You  will  find  shoes  in  the 
closet,  Miss  Billy,  and  don't  wait  for  me ;  I  am  go 
ing  down  to  speak  to  him."  Away  she  flew,  running 
lightly  at  full  speed  through  the  upper  hall  and  down 
the  back  stairs,  closely  followed  by  Petie  Trone,  Esq. 
Miss  Billy  closed  the  window  and  stood  there  for 
a  moment  looking  out.  Presently  she  saw  Ruth  at 
the  stone  wall  at  the  end  of  the  garden.  She  also 
recognized  (with  disapproving  eyes)  the  unclerical  hat 
of  the  Rev.  Malachi  Hill,  who  had  stopped  his  horse 
in  the  road  outside.  He  was  talking  to  Ruth,  who 
listened  with  her  chin  resting  on  her  hands  on  the 
top  of  the  wall,  while  the  wind  roughened  her  hair 
wildly,  and  blew  out  her  skirts  like  a  balloon.  Miss 
Billy  watched  her  for  a  while ;  then,  after  making 


14 


her  own  preparations  for  the  evening,  she  seated  her 
self  by  the  fire  to  wait.  For  no  one  could  make 
Ruth  come  in  one  moment  before  she  chose  to  do 
so ;  it  seemed  better,  therefore,  not  to  call  attention 
to  her  absence  by  returning  to  the  parlor  alone,  lest 
Mrs.  Franklin  should  be  made  uneasy  by  knowing 
that  the  girl  was  out,  bareheaded,  in  the  cold  wind. 
Having  made  her  decision  (Billy  was  always  troubled, 
even  upon  the  smallest  occasion,  by  four  or  five  dif 
ferent  theories  as  to  the  best  course  to  pursue),  she 
looked  about  the  room  with  the  same  wonder  and 
gentle  dislike  which  she  had  often  felt  before.  The 
necessary  articles  of  furniture  were  all  set  closely 
back  against  the  wall,  in  order  that  the  central  space 
of  the  large  chamber  should  be  left  entirely  free. 
For  Ruth  did  not  like  little  things — small  objects  of 
any  kind  which  required  dusting,  and  which  could 
be  easily  upset.  Miss  Billy,  who  adored  little  things, 
and  who  lived  in  a  grove  of  them,  thought  the  place 
dreadfully  bare.  There  were  no  souvenirs ;  no  pho 
tographs  of  friends  in  velvet  frames ;  there  were  no 
small  tables,  brackets,  screens,  hanging  shelves,  little 
chairs,  little  boxes,  little  baskets,  fans,  and  knick- 
knacks  ;  there  was  not  even  a  wall-calendar.  With 
Miss  Billy,  the  removal  of  the  old  leaf  from  her  po 
etical  calendar,  and  the  reading  of  the  new  one  each 
morning,  was  a  solemn  rite.  And  when  her  glance 
reached  the  toilet -table,  her  non- comprehension 
reached  its  usual  climax.  The  table  itself  was  plain 
and  unadorned,  but  on  its  top  was  spread  out  a  profuse 


15 


array  of  toilet  articles,  all  of  ivory  or  crystal.  That  a 
girl  so  wholly  careless  about  everything  else  should 
insist  upon  having  so  many  costly  and  dainty  objects 
for  her  personal  use  in  the  privacy  of  her  own  room 
seemed  remarkable.  "  Give  Ruth  her  bath  in  scented 
water,  and  all  these  ivory  and  crystal  things  to  use 
when  she  dresses,  and  she  is  perfectly  willing  to  go 
about  in  a  faded,  torn  old  skirt,  a  hat  entirely  out 
of  fashion,  shabby  gloves,  and  worn-out  shoes ;  in 
short,  looking  anyhow !"  mused  Billy,  perplexed. 

Down-stairs  Mrs.  Franklin  was  receiving  another 
visitor.  After  Dolly's  departure,  Rinda  had  made  a 
second  irruptive  entrance,  with  the  announcement, 
"  Gen'lem !"  and  Mr.  Anthony  Etheridge  came  in. 
Etheridge  was  a  strikingly  handsome  man,  who  ap 
peared  to  be  about  fifty-eight.  He  entered  with  light 
step  and  smiling  face,  and  a  flower  in  his  coat. 

"  Ah,  commodore,  when  did  you  return  ?"  said  Mrs. 
Franklin,  giving  him  her  hand. 

"  Two  hours  ago,"  answered  Etheridge,  bowing 
over  it  gallantly.  "  You  are  looking  remarkably 
well,  my  dear  madam.  llum-ha  !"  These  last  syl 
lables  were  not  distinct ;  Etheridge  often  made  this 
little  sound,  which  was  not  an  ahem ;  it  seemed  in 
tended  to  express  merely  a  general  enjoyment  of  ex 
istence — a  sort  of  overflow  of  health  and  vitality. 

"  Only  two  hours  ago  ?  You  have  been  all  day  in 
that  horrible  stage,  and  yet  you  have  strength  to  pay 
visits  ?" 

"  Not  visits  ;  a  visit.     You  are  alone  2" 


"  Only  for  the  moment ;  Dolly  and  Ruth  are  dress 
ing.  We  are  expecting  some  one  to  dine  with  us — 
a  new  acquaintance,  by- the-way,  since  you  left;  a 
Mr.  Chase." 

"  Yes,  Horace  Chase ;  I  knew  he  was  here.  I 
should  like  to  kick  him  out !" 

"Why  so  fierce?"  said  Mrs.  Franklin,  going  on 
with  her  lamplighters.  For  the  making  of  lamp 
lighters  from  old  newspapers  was  one  of  her  pas 
times. 

"  Of  course  I  am  fierce.  We  don't  want  fellows 
of  that  sort  here ;  he  will  upset  the  whole  place ! 
What  brought  him  ?" 

"  He  has  not  been  well,  I  believe  "  ("  That's  one 
comfort !  They  never  are,"  interpolated  Etheridge), 
"and  he  was  advised  to  try  mountain  air.  In  ad 
dition,  he  is  said  to  be  looking  into  the  railroad  proj 
ect." 

"  Good  heavens  !  Already  ?  The  one  solace  I  got 
out  of  the  war  was  the  check  it  gave  to  the  advance 
of  those  horrible  rails  westward  ;  I  have  been  in  hopes 
that  the  locomotives  would  not  get  beyond  Old  Fort 
in  my  time,  at  any  rate.  Why,  Dora,  this  strip  of 
mountain  country  is  the  most  splendid  bit  of  natural 
forest,  of  nature  undraped,  which  exists  to-day  be 
tween  the  Atlantic  Ocean  and  the  Rockies!" 

"  Save  your  eloquence  for  Genevieve,  commodore." 

"  Hum-ha  !     Mrs.  Jared,  eh  ?" 

"  Yes ;  she  knew  Mr.  Chase  when  he  was  a  little 
boy  ;  she  says  she  used  to  call  him  Ilorrie.  As  soon 


17 


as  she  heard  that  he  was  here,  she  revived  the  acquaint 
ance  ;  and  then  she  introduced  him  to  us." 

"  Does  she  like  him  ?"  asked  Etheridge,  with  annoy 
ance  in  his  tone. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  she  likes  him  or  not ;  but 
she  is  hoping  that  he  will  do  something  that  will  in 
crease  the  value  of  property  here." 

"  It  is  intelligent  of  Mrs.  Jarcd  to  be  thinking  of 
that  already,"  said  Etheridge,  softening  a  little.  "  Per 
haps  if  I  owned  land  here,  I  should  take  another  view 
of  the  subject  myself !  You  too,  Dora — you  might 
make  something?" 

"  No ;  we  have  no  land  save  the  garden,  and  the 
house  is  dreadfully  dilapidated.  Personally,  I  may 
as  well  confess  that  I  should  be  glad  to  see  the  rail 
road  arrive ;  I  am  mortally  tired  of  that  long  jolting 
stage-drive  from  Old  Fort ;  it  nearly  kills  me  each 
time  I  take  it.  And  I  am  afraid  I  don't  care  for  nat 
ure  undraped  so  much  as  you  do,  commodore ;  I 
think  I  like  draperies." 

"  Of  course  you  do  !  But  when  you — and  by  you 
I  mean  the  nation  at  large — when  you  perceive  that 
your  last  acre  of  primitive  forest  is  forever  gone,  then 
you  will  repent.  And  you  will  begin  to  cultivate  wild- 
ness  as  they  do  abroad,  poor  creatures — plant  forests 
and  guard  'em  with  stone  walls  and  keepers,  by  Jove  ! 
Horace  Chase  appears  here  as  the  pioneer  of  spolia 
tion.  He  may  not  mean  it ;  he  does  not  come  with 
an  axe  on  his  shoulder  exactly ;  he  comes,  in  fact, 
with  baking-powder ;  but  that's  how  it  will  end. 


18 


Haven't  you  heard  that  it  was  baking-powder?  At 
least  you  have  heard  of  the  powder  itself — the  Bub 
ble  ?  I  thought  so.  "Well,  that's  where  he  made  his 
first  money  —  the  Bubble  Baking-Powder;  and  he 
made  a  lot  of  it,  too !  Now  he  is  in  no  end  of  other 
things.  One  of  them  is  steamships ;  some  of  the 
Willoughbys  of  New  York  have  gone  in  with  him, 
and  together  they  have  set  up  a  new  company,  with 
steamers  running  south — the  Columbian  Line." 

"  Yes,  Genevieve  explained  it  to  us.  But  as  he 
docs  not  travel  with  his  steamers  round  his  neck,  there 
remains  for  us,  inland  people  as  we  are,  only  what  he 
happens  to  be  himself.  And  that  is  nothing  interest 
ing." 

"  Not  interesting,  eh  ?"  said  Etheridge,  rather  grati 
fied. 

"  To  my  mind  he  is  not.  He  is  ordinary  in  appear 
ance  and  manners  ;  he  says  *  yes,  ma'am,'  and  « no, 
ma'am,'  to  me,  as  though  I  were  a  great-grandmother! 
In  short,  I  don't  care  for  him,  and  it  is  solely  on  Gen- 
evieve's  account  that  I  have  invited  him.  For  she 
keeps  urging  me  to  do  it ;  she  is  very  anxious  to  have 
him  like  Asheville.  He  has  already  dined  with  us 
twice,  to  meet  her.  But  to-day  he  comes  informally 
— a  chance  invitation  given  only  this  morning  (and 
again  given  solely  to  please  Aer),  when  I  happened 
to  meet  him  at  the  Cottage." 

11  How  old  is  the  wretch  2" 

"  I  don't  know.     Forty-four  or  forty-five." 

"  Quite   impossible,  then,  that  Mrs.  Jared  should 


19 


have  known  him  when  he  was  a  boy  ;  she  was  not 
born  at  that  time,"  commented  Etheridge.  "  What 
she  means,  of  course,  is  that  she,  as  a  child  herself, 
called  him  '  Horrie.'  " 

Mrs.  Franklin  did  not  answer,  and  at  this  moment 
Dolly  came  in. 

"  Yes,  I  am  well,"  she  said,  in  reply  to  the  visitor's 
greeting ;  "  we  are  all  well,  and  lazy.  The  world  at 
large  will  never  be  helped  much  by  us,  I  fear  ;  we  are 
too  contented.  Have  you  ever  noticed,  commodore, 
that  the  women  who  sacrifice  their  lives  so  nobly  to 
help  humanity  seldom  sacrifice  one  small  thing,  and 
that  is  a  happy  home  ?  Either  they  do  not  possess 
such  an  article,  or  else  they  have  spoiled  it  by  quarrel 
ling  with  every  individual  member  of  their  families." 

"  Now,  Dolly,  no  more  of  your  sarcasms.  Tell  me 
rather  about  this  new  acquaintance  of  yours,  this 
bubbling  capitalist  whom  you  have  invented  and  set 
up  in  your  midst  during  my  unsuspecting  absence," 
said  Etheridge. 

"  You  need  not  think,  commodore,  that  you  can 
make  me  say  one  word  about  him,"  answered  Dolly, 
solemnly  ;  "  for  I  read  in  a  book  only  the  other  day 
that  a  tendency  to  talk  about  other  persons,  instead 
of  one's  self,  was  a  sure  sign  of  advancing  age.  Young 
people,  the  book  goes  on  to  say,  are  at  heart  interest 
ed  in  nothing  on  earth  but  themselves  and  their  own 
affairs ;  they  have  not  the  least  curiosity  about  char 
acter  or  traits  in  general.  As  I  wish  to  be  considered 
young,  I  have  made  a  vow  to  talk  of  nothing  but  my- 


self  hereafter.  Anything  you  may  wish  to  hear  about 
me  I  am  ready  to  tell  you."  Dolly  was  now  attired 
in  a  velvet  dress  of  dark  russet  hue,  like  the  color  of 
autumn  oak  leaves  ;  this  tint  took  the  eye  away  some 
what  from  the  worn  look  of  her  plain  thin  face.  The 
dress,  however,  was  eight  years  old,  and  the  fashion 
in  which  it  had  been  made  originally  had  never  been 
altered. 

"  The  being  interested  in  nothing  but  themselves, 
and  their  own  doings  and  feelings,  is  not  confined  to 
young  people,"  said  Mrs.  Franklin,  laughing.  "  I  have 
known  a  goodly  number  of  their  elders  who  were  quite 
as  bad.  When  these  gentry  hold  forth,  by  the  hour, 
about  their  convictions  and  their  theories,  their  beliefs 
and  disbeliefs,  their  likings  and  dislikings,  their  tastes 
and  their  principles,  their  souls,  their  minds,  and  their 
bodies — if,  in  despair,  you  at  last,  by  way  of  a  change, 
turn  the  conversation  towards  some  one  else,  they  be 
come  loftily  silent.  And  they  go  away  and  tell  every 
body,  with  regret  of  course,  that  you  are  hopelessly 
given  to  gossip  !  Gossip,  in  fact,  has  become  very 
valuable  to  me  ;  I  keep  it  on  hand,  and  pour  it  forth 
in  floods,  to  drown  those  egotists  out." 

u  When  you  gossip,  then,  I  shall  know  that  /  bore 
you,"  said  Etheridge,  rising,  "  I  mustn't  do  so  now  ;  I 
leave  you  to  your  Bubble.  Mrs.  Jared,  1  suppose,  will 
be  with  you  this  evening  ?  I  ask  because  I  had 
thought  of  paying  her  a  how-do-you-do  visit, 
later." 

"  Pay  it  here,  commodore,"  suggested  Mrs.  Frank- 


lin.  "  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  see  her  '  Home  ' 
yourself  ?" 

"  Greatly,  greatly.  I  am  always  glad  to  meet  any 
of  these  driving  speculators  who  come  within  my 
reach.  For  it  makes  me  contented  for  a  month  after 
wards — contented  with  my  own  small  means — to  see 
how  yellow  they  are  !  Not  a  man  jack  of  them  who 
hasn't  a  skin  like  guinea  gold."  Upon  this  point  the 
commodore  could  enlarge  safely,  for  no  color  could 
be  fresher  and  finer  than  his  own. 

After  he  had  gone,  Mrs.  Franklin  said  :  "  Imagine 
what  he  has  just  told  me — that  Genevieve  could  not 
possibly  have  known  Horace  Chase  when  he  was  a 
boy,  because  she  is  far  too  young !"  And  then 
mother  and  daughter  joined  in  a  merry  laugh. 

"  It  would  be  fun  to  tell  him  that  she  was  forty  on 
her  last  birthday,"  said  Dolly. 

"  He  would  never  believe  you  ;  he  would  think  that 
you  fibbed  from  jealousy,"  answered  Mrs.  Franklin. 
"As  you  are  dressed,  I  may  as  well  go  and  make 
ready  myself,"  she  added,  rising.  "  I  have  been 
waiting  for  Ruth ;  I  cannot  imagine  what  she  is  about." 

This  is  what  Ruth  was  about — she  was  rushing  up 
the  back  stairs  in  the  dark,  breathless.  When  she 
reached  her  room,  she  lit  the  candles  hastily.  "  You 
still  here,  Miss  Billy  ?  I  supposed  you  had  gone  down 
long  ago."  She  stirred  the  fire  into  a  blaze,  and  knelt 
to  warm  her  cold  hands.  "  Such  fun  !  I  have  made 
an  engagement  for  us  all,  this  evening.  You  can 
never  think  what  it  is.  Nothing  less  than  a  fancy- 


22 


dress  procession  at  the  rink  for  the  benefit  of  the 
Mission.  A  man  is  carrying  costumes  across  the 
mountains  for  some  tableaux  for  a  soldiers'  monu 
ment  at  Knoxville;  his  wagon  has  broken  down,  and 
he  is  obliged  to  stay  here  until  it  is  mended.  Mr. 
Hill  has  made  use  of  this  for  the  Mission.  Isn't  it  a 
splendid  idea?  He  has  been  rushing  about  all  the 
afternoon,  and  he  has  found  twenty  persons  who  are 
willing  to  appear  in  fancy  dress,  and  he  himself  is  to 
be  an  Indian  chief,  in  war-paint  and  feathers." 

"  In  war-paint  and  feathers  ?     Oh  /" 

"  Yes.  It  seems  that  he  has  a  costume  of  his  own. 
He  had  it  when  he  was  an  insurance  agent,  you  know, 
before  he  entered  the  ministry ;  he  was  always  fond 
of  such  things,  he  says,  and  the  costume  is  a  very 
handsome  one  ;  when  he  wore  it,  he  called  himself 
Big  Moose." 

"Big  Moose  !  It  must  be  stopped,"  said  Miss 
Billy,  in  a  horrified  voice.  For  Miss  Billy  had  the 
strictest  ideas  regarding  the  dignity  of  the  clergy. 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  told  him  that  it  would  be  a 
great  attraction,  and  that  it  was  his  duty  to  do  all  he 
could,"  declared  Ruth,  breaking  into  one  of  her  intense 
laughs.  Her  laugh  was  not  loud,  but  when  it  had 
once  begun  it  seemed  sometimes  as  if  it  would  never 
stop.  At  present,  as  soon  as  she  could  speak,  she  an 
nounced,  "  We'll  all  go." 

"  Do  not  include  me,"  said  Miss  Billy,  with  dignity. 
"  I  think  it  shocking,  Ruth.  I  do  indeed." 

"  Oh,  you'll  be  there,"  said  Ruth,  springing  up, 


23 


and  drawing  Miss  Billy  to  her  feet.  "  You'll  put  on 
roller-skates  yourself,  and  go  wheeling  off  first  this 
way,  then  that  way,  with  Achilles  Lame."  And,  as 
she  said  this,  she  gleefully  forced  her  visitor  across 
the  floor,  now  in  a  long  sweep  to  the  right,  now  to 
the  left,  with  as  close  an  imitation  of  skating  as  the 
circumstances  permitted. 

While  they  were  thus  engaged,  Mrs.  Franklin  opened 
the  door.  "  What  are  you  doing  ?  Ruth  —  not 
dressed  yet  ?" 

"  I'm  all  ready,  His  Grand,"  responded  Ruth,  run 
ning  across  the  room  and  pouring  water  into  the 
basin  in  a  great  hurry.  "  I  have  only  to  wash  my 
hands  "  (here  she  dashed  lavender  into  the  water) ; 
"  I'll  be  down  directly." 

"  And  we  shall  all  admire  you  in  that  torn  dress," 
said  her  mother. 

"  Never  mind,  I'll  pin  it  up.  Nobody  will  see  it 
at  dinner,  under  the  table.  And  after  dinner  my 
cloak  will  cover  it — for  we  are  all  going  out." 

"  Going  out  this  windy  evening  ?  Never  !  Are 
you  ready,  Billy  ?  And  Ruth,  you  must  come  as  you 
are,  for  Mr.  Chase  is  already  here,  and  Rinda  is  bring 
ing  in  the  soup." 

"  Never  fear,  His  Grand.     I'll  come." 

And  come  she  did,  two  minutes  later,  just  as  she 
was,  save  that  her  wind-roughened  hair  had  been 
vaguely  smoothed,  and  fastened  down  hastily  with 
large  hair-pins  placed  at  random.  Owing  to  her  hur 
ry,  she  had  a  brilliant  color ;  and  seeing,  as  she  en- 


tered,  the  disapproving  expression  in  her  mother's 
eyes,  she  was  seized  with  the  idea  of  making,  for 
her  own  amusement,  a  stately  sweeping  courtesy  to 
Horace  Chase ;  this  she  accordingly  did,  carrying  it 
off  very  well,  with  an  air  of  majesty  just  tempered 
at  the  edges  with  burlesque. 

Chase,  who  had  risen,  watched  this  salutation  with 
great  interest.  When  it  was  over,  he  felt  it  incum 
bent  upon  him,  however,  to  go  through,  in  addition, 
the  more  commonplace  greeting.  "  How  do  you  do, 
Miss  Ruth  ?"  he  said,  extending  his  hand.  And  he 
gave  the  tips  of  her  fingers  (all  she  yielded  to  him) 
three  careful  distinct  shakes. 

Then  they  went  to  dinner. 


CHAPTER   II 

THE  meal  which  followed  was  good ;  for  Zoe,  the 
cook,  was  skilful  in  her  old-fashioned  way.  But  the 
dinner  service  was  ordinary ;  the  only  wine  was  Dry 
Catawba;  Rinda's  ideas  of  waiting,  too,  were  primi 
tive.  The  Franklins,  however,  had  learned  to  wait 
upon  themselves.  They  had  the  habit  of  remaining 
long  at  the  table  ;  for,  whether  they  were  alone  or 
whether  they  had  a  guest,  there  was  always  a  soup, 
there  was  always  a  salad,  there  were  always  nuts  and 
fruit,  followed  by  coffee — four  courses,  therefore,  in 
addition  to  the  two  which  the  younger  Mrs.  Frank 
lin,  whose  household  was  managed  in  a  very  differ 
ent  way,  considered  all  that  was  necessary  "  for  the 
body." 

"  A  serious  rice  pudding,  Genevieve,  no  doubt  is 
enough  for  the  body,  as  you  call  it,"  Dolly  had  once 
said.  "  But  we  think  of  the  mind  also  ;  we  aim  at 
brilliancy.  And  no  one  ever  scintillated  yet  on  cod 
fish  and  stewed  prunes !" 

"  Mrs.  Jared  Franklin  is  well,  I  hope  ?"  Chase 
asked,  when  the  last  course  was  reached.  He  was 
not  fond  of  nuts  or  figs,  but  he  was  playing  his  part, 
according  to  his  conception  of  it,  by  eating  at  inter 
vals  one  raisin. 


"  Quite  well ;  thanks.  I  have  never  known  her  to 
be  ill,"  replied  Dolly. 

"  Mr.  Chase,  I  am  going  to  suggest  something :  as 
mother  and  my  sister-in-law  are  both  Mrs.  Jared,  and 
as  mother  has  no  burning  desire  to  be  called  *  old 
Mrs.  Franklin '  just  yet,  why  don't  you  say  *  Mrs.  G. 
IV  when  you  mean  the  younger  matron  ?" 

Chase  would  never  have  thought  of  calling  either 
the  one  or  the  other  a  matron,  his  idea  of  the  word 
being  the  female  superintendent  of  a  public  institu 
tion.  "G.  B. — are  those  her  initials?"  he  said.  "Yes, 
of  course ;  G-.  for  Genevieve,  or  Gen,  as  I  used  to  call 
her." 

"And  B.  for  Beatrice  ;  isn't  that  lovely  ?  Our  own 
names,  unfortunately,  are  very  plain  —  Ruth,  Dolly, 
and  Jared  ;  Genevieve  has  taken  pity  upon  the  Jared, 
and  changed  it  to  Jay.  Mother,  however,  actually 
likes  the  name  Jared.  She  is  weak  enough  to  be 
proud  of  tke  fact  that  there  have  been  six  Jared 
Franklins  in  the  direct  line,  from  eldest  son  to  father, 
going  back  to  colonial  days.  People  are  very  sorry 
for  this  delusion  of  hers ;  they  have  told  her  repeat 
edly  that  the  colonial  period  was  unimportant.  Gene 
vieve,  in  particular,  has  often  explained  to  her  that 
modern  times  are  far  more  interesting." 

"  I  guess  there  isn't  much  question  about  that,  is 
there  ?"  said  Chase.  "  No  doubt  they  did  the  best 
they  could  in  those  old  days.  But  they  couldn't  do 
much,  you  see,  because  they  had  nothing  to  work 
with,  no  machinery,  no  capital,  no  combinations ; 


27 


they  couldn't  hear  anything  until  long  after  it  had 
happened,  and  they  couldn't  go  anywhere  except  on 
horseback.  I've  always  been  glad  /  didn't  serve  my 
time  then.  I  guess  I  should  have  found  it  slow." 

"  You  must  find  Asheville  rather  slow  ?  remarked 
Dolly. 

"  It  is  more  than  slow,  Miss  Franklin ;  it  has 
stopped  entirely.  But  it  has  great  natural  advan 
tages — I  have  been  surprised  to  see  how  many.  I 
like  new  enterprises,  and  I've  been  thinking  about 
something."  Here  he  paused  and  ate  one  more 
raisin,  balancing  it  for  a  moment  upon  the  palm  of 
his  hand  before  he  swallowed  it.  "  I've  been  thinking 
of  picking  up  that  railroad  at  Old  Fort  and  pushing 
it  right  through  to  this  place,  and  on  to  Tennessee ; 
a  branch,  later,  to  tap  South  Carolina  and  Georgia. 
That  isn't  all,  however."  He  paused  again.  Then 
with  a  glance  which  rested  for  a  moment  on  each 
face,  and  finally  stopped  at  Mrs.  Franklin's,  "  What 
do  you  say,"  he  added,  with  an  hospitable  smile,  "  to 
my  making  a  big  watering-place  of  your  hilly  little 
village  ?" 

"  Asheville  watered  ?     What  next  I"  said  Dolly. 

"  The  next  is  that  the  stock  won't  be,"  replied 
Chase,  laughing.  "  I  mean,  the  stock  of  the  com 
pany  that  undertakes  the  affair,  if  it  does  undertake 
it.  You'd  better  apply  for  some  right  off ;  all  of 
you.  Shall  I  tell  you  how  the  thing  strikes  me,  while 
you  are  finishing  your  nuts?  Well,  then,  this  is 
about  it.  The  whole  South  is  a  hot  place  in  summer, 


28 


ladies ;  from  Baltimore  down  to  the  end  of  Florida 
and  Louisiana  they  simply  swelter  from  June  to  Oc 
tober,  arid  always  must  swelter.  If  you  will  look  at 
a  map,  you  can  see  for  yourselves  that  the  only  re 
gion  where  the  people  of  all  this  big  section  can  get 
fresh  air  during  the  heated  term,  without  a  long 
journey  for  it,  is  this  one  line  of  mountains,  called 
Alleghanies  in  the  lump,  but  in  reality  including  the 
Blue  Ridge,  the  Cumberlands,  your  Smokies  and 
Blacks,  and  others  about  here.  For  a  trip  to  the 
southern  sea-coast  isn't  much  relief ;  a  hot  beach  is 
about  the  hottest  place  I  know  !  Now,  then,  what  is 
the  best  point  among  these  mountains  ?  The  Alle 
ghanies  lie  this  way."  (He  made  the  Alleghanies 
with  a  table-spoon.)  "  Then  there  is  the  Blue  Ridge." 
(A  nut-cracker.)  "  And  here  you  get  your  Smokies 
and  so  forth."  (Almonds  taken  hastily  from  a  dish 
and  arranged  in  a  line.)  "And  I'll  just  indicate  the 
Cumberlands  with  this  orange.  Very  well.  Now 
where  are  the  highest  peaks  of  these  lines  ?  Let  us 
follow  the  range  down.  Do  we  find  them  in  Penn 
sylvania?  No,  sir.  Do  we  find  them  in  Virginia  ? 
We  do  not.  Are  they  over  there  among  the  Cum 
berlands?  Not  by  a  long  shot.  Where  are  they, 
then  ?  Right  here,  ladies,  at  your  own  door  ;  right 
here,  where  I  make  a  dot  this  minute."  And  taking 
a  pencil  from  his  pocket,  he  made  a  small  mark  on 
the  table-cloth  between  the  spoon  and  the  nut-cracker. 
"  In  this  neighborhood,"  he  went  on,  emphasizing 
his  statement  by  pointing  his  pencil  at  Miss  Billy, 


"  there  are  thirteen  nearly  seven  thousand  feet  high. 
It  seems  to  me,  therefore,  that  in  spite  of  all  the 
jokes  about  talking  for  buncombe,  the  talk  for  Bun 
combe  has  not  been  half  tall  enough  yet.  For  this 
very  Buncombe  County  is  bound  to  be  the  favorite 
watering-place  for  over  twelve  millions  of  people, 
some  day  or  other." 

"Watering-place?"  commented  Dolly.  "Well,  we 
have  the  two  rivers,  the  French  Broad  and  the  Swan- 
nanoa.  But  the  Swannanoa  is  small ;  if  the  millions 
should  all  drink  at  once,  it  would  soon  go  dry." 

"  I  meant  summer  resort,  Miss  Franklin,  not  water 
ing-place,"  said  Chase,  inwardly  entertained  by  the 
quickness  bordering  on  the  sharp  with  which  "  the 
sickly  one,"  as  he  called  her,  always. took  him  up. 
"  Though  there  are  sulphur  springs  near  by  too :  I 
have  been  out  to  look  at  them.  And  it  isn't  only 
the  Southerners  who  will  come  here,"  he  went  on. 
"  Northerners  will  flock  also,  when  they  understand 
what  these  mountains  are.  For,  in  comparison  with 
them,  the  Catskills  are  a  suburb ;  the  White  Mount 
ains,  ornamental  rock-work ;  and  the  Adirondacks,  a 
wood-lot.  Here  everything  is  absolutely  wild ;  you 
can  shoot  because  there  are  all  sorts  of  things  to 
shoot,  from  bears  down.  And  then  there's  another 
point — for  I  haven't  got  to  the  bottom  of  the  sack 
yet.  This  mountain  valley  of  yours,  being  2400  feet 
above  the  sea,  has  a  wonderfully  pure  dry  air,  and 
yet,  as  it  is  so  far  south,  it  is  not  cold ;  its  winter 
climate,  therefore,  is  as  good  as  its  summer,  and  even 


better.  So  here's  the  situation:  people  who  live  in 
hot  places  will  come  here  from  June  to  October,  and 
people  who  live  in  cold  places  will  come  from  Octo 
ber  to  June."  lie  returned  the  orange  and  the  al 
monds  to  their  dishes,  replaced  the  table-spoon  and 
nut-cracker,  and  then,  looking  at  Mrs.  Franklin,  he 
gave  her  a  cheerful  nod.  "  That's  it,  ma'am  ;  that's 
the  whole  in  a  nutshell." 

Ruth  gravely  offered  him  an  empty  almond  shell. 

"  We'll  have  something  better  than  that,  Miss  Ruth 
— a  philopena."  And  taking  a  nut-cracker,  he  opened 
several  almonds.  Finding  a  double  kernel,  he  gave 
her  one  of  the  halves.  "  Now,  if  I  win,  I  should  be 
much  favored  if  you  would  make  me  something  of 
worsted — a  tidy  is  the  name,  I  think  ?" 

Ruth  began  to  laugh. 

"  Well,  then,  a  picture-frame  of  cones." 

And  now  the  other  ladies  joined  in  Ruth's  merri 
ment. 

"  We  must  decline  such  rare  objects,"  said  Mrs. 
Franklin.  "  But  we  have  our  own  small  resources, 
Mr.  Chase."  And,  leading  the  way  back  to  the  par 
lor,  she  showed  him  the  mantel-cover  with  Dolly's 
verse. 

"  Why,  that's  beautiful,  Miss  Franklin,"  said  Chase, 
with  sincere  admiration,  when  he  had  read  the  lines. 
"  I  didn't  know  you  could  write  poetry." 

"  Oh  yes,"  answered  Dolly.  "  I  think  in  elegies 
as  a  general  thing,  and  I  make  sonnets  as  I  dress. 
Epics  are  nothing  to  me,  and  I  turn  off  triolets  in  no 


time.     But  I   don't  publish,  Mr.   Chase,  because   I 
don't  want  to  be  called  a  minor  poet." 

Here  Rinda  came  in  like  a  projectile,  carrying  a 
large  box  clasped  in  her  arms.  "  Jess  lef  !  'Spress!" 
she  exclaimed  excitedly. 

"  Express  ?"  repeated  Mrs.  Franklin,  trying  to  make 
out  the  address  without  her  glasses.  "  Read  it,  Ruth." 

Ruth  looked  at  the  label,  and  then  broke  into  an 
other  laugh.  She  had  hardly  recovered  from  the  pre 
ceding  one,  and  Chase,  with  amusement,  watched  her 
start  off  again.  But  he  soon  found  himself  surround 
ed  by  laughers  a  second  time. 

"Why,  what's  wrong  with  it?"  he  asked,  seeing 
that  it  was  the  label  which  excited  their  mirth.  And 
in  his  turn  he  examined  it.  "  Miss  Ruth  Franklin, 
Lommy  Dew,  Ashcvillc?  That's  right,  isn't  it? 
Isn't  Lommy  Dew  the  name  of  your  place  ?" 

Rinda  meanwhile,  wildly  curious,  had  been  open 
ing  the  box  by  main  force  with  the  aid  of  the  poker. 
She  now  uncovered  a  huge  cluster  of  hot-house  roses, 
packed  in  moss. 

"  Flowers  ?  Who  could  have  sent  them  ?"  said 
Mrs.  Franklin,  surprised.  She  had  no  suspicion  of 
her  present  guest ;  her  thoughts  had  turned  towards 
some  of  their  old  friends  at  the  North.  But  Ruth, 
happening  to  catch  the  look  in  Horace  Chase's  eyes 
as  he  glanced  for  an  instant  at  the  blossoms,  not  so 
much  admiringly  as  critically,  exclaimed : 

"  You  sent  them,  Mr.  Chase.     How  perfectly  love- 

ly  I" 


32 


"I'm  afraid  they're  not  ranch,"  Chase  answered. 
"I  thought  they'd  send  more."  lie  had  wished  to 
show  that  he  appreciated  the  invitations  to  L'Hora- 
medieu,  and  as,  according  to  his  idea,  it  was  the 
young  lady  of  the  family  to  whom  it  was  proper  to 
pay  such  attentions,  he  had  ordered  the  box  to  be 
sent  to  Ruth  rather  than  to  Mrs.  Franklin  or  Dolly. 

Ruth's  laugh  had  stopped.  She  was  passionately 
fond  of  hot-house  flowers,  and  now  both  her  hands 
together  could  hardly  encircle  even  the  stems  alone 
of  these  superb  tea-roses,  whose  gorgeous  masses 
filled  her  arms  as  she  raised  them.  With  a  quick 
movement  she  buried  her  face  in  the  soft  petals. 

"But,  I  say,  what  was  wrong  with  this?"  asked 
Chase  a  second  time,  as  he  again  looked  at  the  label. 

"  L'Hommedieu  is  a  French  name — ".  began  Dolly. 

But  Ruth  interrupted  her :  "  It  is  an  ugly  old 
French  name,  Mr.  Chase,  and  as  it  is  pronounced,  in 
America  at  least,  exactly  as  you  wrote  it,  I  think  it 
might  as  well  be  spelled  so,  too.  At  present,  how 
ever,  this  is  the  way — the  silly  way."  And  holding 
her  flowers  with  her  left  arm,  she  detached  her  right 
hand,  and  scribbled  the  name  on  the  edge  of  the  Ra 
leigh  paper. 

"  Ah  !"  said  Chase,  looking  at  it.  "  I  don't  speak 
French  myself.  I  thought  perhaps  it  had  something 
to  do  with  dew."  And  frowning  a  little,  a  frown  of 
attention,  he  spelled  the  word  over. 

An  old  negro  woman,  her  head  covered  with  a  red 
kerchief  folded  like  a  turban,  now  came  stiffly  in 


83 


with  the  coffee-tray,  her  stiffness  being  an  angry  dig 
nity.  It  was  Zoe,  the  cook,  tired  of  waiting  for 
Rinda,  who,  still  in  the  parlor,  was  occupied  in  gaz 
ing  with  friendly  interest  at  the  roses.  "Lawdy — ef 
I  ain't  clean  ferget !"  remarked  the  waitress,  genially, 
to  the  company  in  general. 

"  You  clar  out,  good-fer-nuttV  nigger  !"  muttered 
the  offended  cook,  in  an  undertone  to  her  coadjutor. 

With  the  tray,  or  rather  behind  it,  a  lady  came  in. 

"  Just  in  time  for  coffee,  Genevieve,"  remarked 
Dolly,  cheerfully. 

"  Thanks ;  I  do  not  take  it  at  night,"  Geneveive 
answered. 

This  was  a  dialogue  often  repeated  in  one  form  or 
another,  for  Dolly  kept  it  up.  The  younger  Mrs. 
Franklin  did  not  like  evening  dinners,  and  Dolly  even 
maintained  that  her  sister-in-law  thought  them  wicked. 
"  She  sees  a  close  connection  between  a  late  dinner 
with  coffee  after  it,  and  the  devil."  The  Franklins 
had  always  dined  at  the  close  of  the  day,  for  the  elder 
Jared  Franklin,  having  been  the  editor  of  a  daily 
paper,  had  found  that  hour  the  most  convenient  one. 
The  editor  was  gone  ;  his  family  had  moved  from  the 
North  to  the  South,  and  life  for  them  was  changed 
in  many  ways ;  but  his  habit  of  the  evening  dinner 
they  had  never  altered. 

The  younger  Mrs.  Franklin  greeted  Chase  cordially. 
Dolly  listened,  hoping  to  hear  her  call  him  "  Horrie." 
But  Genevieve  contented  herself  with  giving  him  her 
hand,  and  some  frank  words  of  welcome.  Genevieve 


was  always  frank.  And  in  all  she  said  and  did,  also, 
she  was  absolutely  sincere.  She  was  a  beautiful 
woman  with  golden  hair,  fair  skin,  regular  features, 
and  ideally  lovely  eyes ;  her  tall  figure  was  of  Juno- 
like  proportions.  Chase  admired  her,  that  was  evi 
dent.  But  Dolly  (who  was  noting  this)  had  long  ago 
discovered  that  men  always  admired  her  sister-in-law. 
In  addition  to  her  beauty,  Gcnevieve  Lad  a  sweet 
voice,  and  an  earnest,  half-appealing  way  of  speaking. 
She  was  appealing  to  Chase  now.  "  There  is  to  be 
an  entertainment  at  the  rink  to-night,  Horace,  for  the 
benefit  of  the  Mission ;  won't  you  go  ?  I  hope  so. 
And,  mamma,  that  is  what  I  have  come  over  for ;  to 
tell  you  about  it,  and  beg  you  to  go  also."  She  had 
seated  herself  beside  Chase  ;  but,  as  she  said  these 
last  words,  she  put  out  her  hand  and  laid  it  affection 
ately  on  Mrs.  Franklin's  shoulder. 

"  I  believe  I  am  to  have  the  pleasure  of  spending 
the  evening  here  ?"  Chase  answered,  making  a  little 
bow  towards  his  hostess. 

"  But  if  mamma  herself  goes  to  the  rink,  as  I  am 
sure  she  will,  then  won't  you  accompany  her?  The 
Mission  and  the  Colored  Home,  Horace,  are — 

But  here  Chase,  like  a  madman,  made  a  sudden 
bound,  and  grasped  the  top  of  Miss  Billy  Breeze's 
head. 

Quick  as  his  spring  had  been,  however,  Ruth's  was 
quicker.  She  pulled  his  hands  away.  "  Don't  hurt 
him!  Dorftr 

But  the  squirrel  was  not  under  Chase's  fingers;  he 


35 


had  already  escaped,  and,  running  down  the  front  of 
Miss  Billy's  dress  (to  her  unspeakable  terror),  he  now 
made  another  leap,  and  landed  on  Dolly's  arm,  where 
Ruth  caught  him. 

"  What  in  creation  is  it  ?"  said  Chase,  who  had 
followed.  "  A  bird  ?  Or  a  mouse  ?" 

"  Mouse  !"  said  Ruth,  indignantly.  "  It's  Bob,  my 
dear  little  flying-squirrel ;  I  saw  him  on  the  cornice, 
but  I  thought  he  would  fly  to  me.  It's  amazing  that 
any  one  can  possibly  be  afraid  of  the  darling,"  she 
added,  with  a  reproachful  glance  towards  Miss  Billy, 
who  was  still  cowering.  "  I  had  him  when  he  was 
nothing  but  a  baby,  Mr.  Chase — he  had  fallen  from 
his  nest — and  I  have  brought  him  up  myself.  Now 
that  he  is  getting  to  be  a  big  boy,  he  naturally 
likes  to  fly  about  a  little.  He  cannot  be  always 
climbing  his  one  little  tree  in  the  dining-room.  He 
is  so  soft  and  downy.  Look  at  his  bright  eyes." 
Here  she  opened  her  hand  so  that  Chase  could 
see  her  pet.  "  Would  you  like  to  hold  him  for  a 
moment  ?" 

"  Oh,  I'll  look  at  you  holding  him,"  answered  Chase. 
"  Hollo!  here's  another."  For  Petie  Trone,  Esq.,  his 
jealousy  roused  by  his  mistress's  interest  in  the  squir 
rel,  had  come  out  from  under  the  sofa,  and  was  now 
seated  on  his  hind-legs  at  the  edge  of  her  dress,  beg 
ging.  "  Wouldn't  you  like  an  owl  ?"  Chase  suggested. 
"  Or  a  'possum  ?  A  'coon  might  be  tamed,  if  caught 
young." 

Ruth  walked  away,  offended. 


This  made  him  laugh  still  more  as  he  returned  to 
his  place  beside  Genevieve. 

"  She  is  only  eighteen,"  murmured  the  younger 
Mrs.  Franklin,  apologetically.  Her  words  were  cov 
ered  by  a  rapturous  "  Gen'lem  !"  from  Rinda  at  the 
door.  For  Rinda  was  always  perfectly  delighted  to 
see  anybody ;  when,  therefore,  there  were  already 
two  or  three  guests,  and  still  another  appeared,  her 
voice  became  ecstatic.  The  new-comer  was  Anthony 
Etheridge. 

"  How  fortunate  !"  said  Genevieve.  "  For  it  makes 
another  for  our  little  charity  party.  There  is  to  be 
an  impromptu  entertainment  at  the  rink  to-night,  com 
modore,  for  the  benefit  of  the  Mission,  and  mamma  is 
going,  I  hope.  Won't  you  accompany  her  ?  Let  me 
introduce  Mr.  Chase — a  very  old  friend  of  mine.  Mr. 
Chase,  Commodore  Etheridge." 

"  Happy  to  meet  you,"  said  Chase,  rising  in  order 
to  shake  hands. 

"  Gen'lem  !"  called  Rinda  again ;  this  time  fairly 
in  a  yell. 

The  last  "gen'lem"  was  a  slender  man  of  thirty- 
five,  who  came  in  with  his  overcoat  on.  "  Thanks;  I 
did  not  take  it  off,"  he  said,  in  answer  to  Mrs.  Frank 
lin,  "  because  I  knew  that  you  were  all  going  to  the  " 
— (here  Rath  gave  a  deep  cough) — "  because  I 
thought  it  possible  that  you  might  be  going  to  the 
rink  to-night,"  he  went  on,  changing  the  form  of 
his  sentence,  with  a  slight  smile ;  "  and  in  that  case 
I  hoped  to  accompany  you." 


"  Yes,"  said  Genevieve,  "  mamma  is  going,  Mr. 
Larue.  I  only  wish  I  could  go,  also. 

The  cheeks  of  Miss  Billy  Breeze  had  become 
flushed  with  rose -color  as  the  new-comer  entered. 
Noticing  instantly  the  change  he  had  made  in  his 
sentence  when  Ruth  coughed,  she  at  once  divined 
that  the  girl  had  gone,  bareheaded  and  in  the  dark 
ness,  to  his  residence  during  that  long  absence  be 
fore  dinner,  in  order  to  secure  his  co-operation  in 
the  frolic  of  the  evening.  Ruth  had,  in  fact,  done 
this  very  thing ;  for  nothing  amused  her  so  much  as 
to  watch  Billy  herself  when  Larue  was  present.  The 
girl  was  now  wicked  enough  to  carry  on  her  joke  a 
little  longer.  "  I  am  so  sorry,  Miss  Billy,  that  you 
do  not  care  to  go,"  she  said,  regretfully. 

Miss  Billy  passed  her  handkerchief  over  her  mouth 
and  tried  to  smile.  But  she  was,  in  fact,  winking 
to  keep  back  tears. 

And  then  Mrs.  Franklin,  always  kind-hearted,  came 
to  the  rescue.  "Did  you  tell  Ruth  that  you  could 
not  go,  Billy  ?  Change  your  mind,  my  dear  ;  change 
it  to  please  me" 

"  Oh,  if  you  care  about  it,  dear  Mrs.  Franklin," 
murmured  Billy,  escaping,  and  hurrying  happily  up 
the  stairs  to  put  on  her  wraps. 

The  rink  was  a  large,  bare  structure  of  wood,  with 
a  circular  arena  for  roller-skating.  This  evening  the 
place  was  lighted,  and  the  gallery  was  occupied  by 
the  colored  band.  The  members  of  this  band,  a  new 
organization,  had  volunteered  their  services  with  the 


heartiest  good-will.  It  was  true  that  they  could  play 
(without  mistakes)  but  one  selection,  namely,  "  The 
lone  starry  hours  give  me,  love."  But  they  arranged 
this  difficulty  by  playing  it  first,  softly  ;  then  as  a 
solo  on  the  cornet ;  then  fortissimo,  with  drums  ;  by 
means  of  these  alterations  it  lasted  bravely  through 
out  the  evening.  Nearly  the  whole  village  was  pres 
ent  ;  the  promenade  was  crowded,  and  there  were 
many  skaters  on  the  floor  below.  The  Rev.  Malachi 
Hill,  the  originator  of  the  entertainment,  was  dis 
tributing  programmes,  his  face  beaming  with  pleas 
ure  as  he  surveyed  the  assemblage.  Presently  he 
came  to  the  party  from  L'llommedieu.  "Pro 
grammes,  Mrs.  Franklin  ?  Programmes,  gentlemen  ?" 
He  had  written  these  programmes  himself,  in  his 
best  handwriting.  "  The  performance  will  soon  be 
gin,"  he  explained.  "  The  procession  will  skate  round 
the  arena  five  times,  and  afterwards  most  of  the 
characters  will  join  in  a  reel — "  Here  some  one 
called  him,  and  he  hastened  off. 

Chase,  who  had  received  a  programme,  looked  at  it 
in  a  business-like  way.  "  Christopher  Columbus,"  he 
read  aloud ;  "  Romeo  and  Juliet ;  the  Muses,  Calliope, 
and — and  others,"  he  added,  glancing  down  the  list. 

His  Calliope  had  rhymed  with  hope,  and  a  gleam 
of  inward  entertainment  showed  itself  for  one  in 
stant  in  the  eyes  of  Etheridge  and  Larue.  Ruth  saw 
this  scintillation;  instantly  she  crossed  to  Chase's 
side,  as  he  still  studied  the  programme,  and  bending 
to  look  at  it,  said,  "  Please,  may  I  see  too  ?" 


89 


"  Oh  !  I  thought  you  had  one,"  said  Chase,  giving 
her  the  sheet  of  paper. 

"  The  Muses,"  read  Ruth  again,  aloud.  "  Cally- 
ope,"  she  went  on,  giving  the  word  Chase's  pronun 
ciation.  "  And  Terp-si-core."  She  made  this  name 
rhyme  with  "  more."  Then,  standing  beside  her 
new  acquaintance,  she  glared  at  the  remainder  of 
the  party,  defiantly. 

Mrs.  Franklin  was  so  much  overcome  by  this  per 
formance  of  her  daughter's  that  she  was  obliged  to 
turn  away  to  conceal  her  laughter. 

"What  possesses  her — the  witch!"  asked  Eth- 
cridge,  following. 

"  It  is  only  because  she  thinks  I  don't  like  him. 
He  has  given  her  those  magnificent  roses,  and  so 
she  intends  to  stand  up  for  him.  I  never  know 
whom  she  will  fancy  next.  Do  look  at  her  now  !" 

"  I  am  afraid  you  have  spoiled  her,"  commented 
Etheridge,  but  joining  in  the  mother's  laugh  him 
self,  as  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  Ruth  starting  off, 
with  high -held  head  and  firm  step,  to  walk  with 
Chase  round  the  entire  promenade. 

Owing  to  this  sudden  departure,  Miss  Billy  Breeze 
found  herself  unexpectedly  alone  with  Larue.  She 
was  so  much  excited  by  this  state  of  things  that  at 
first  she  could  hardly  speak.  How  many  times,  dur 
ing  this  very  month,  had  she  arranged  with  herself 
exactly  what  she  should  say  if  such  an  opportunity 
should  be  given  her.  Her  most  original  ideas,  her 
most  beautiful  thoughts  (she  kept  them  written  out 


in  her  diary),  should  be  summoned  to  entertain  him. 
The  moment  had  come.  And  this  is  what  she  act 
ually  did  say :  "  Oh !"  (giggle),  "  how  pretty  it  is, 
isn't  it  2"  (Giggle.)  "  Really  a  most  beautiful  sight. 
So  interesting  to  see  so  many  persons,  and  all  so 
happy,  is  it  not  ?  I  don't  know  when  I've  seen  any 
thing  lovelier.  Yes,  indeed  —  lovely.  But  I  hope 
you  won't  take  cold,  Mr.  Larue  ?  Really,  now,  do 
be  careful.  One  takes  cold  so  easily ;  and  then  it 
is  sometimes  so  hard  to  recover."  With  despair 
she  heard  herself  bringing  out  these  inanities.  "  I 
hope  you  are  not  in  a  draught?"  she  wandered  on. 
"  Colds  are  so  tiresome." 

And  now,  with  a  loud  burst  from  the  band,  the 
procession  issued  from  an  improvised  tent  at  the  end 
of  the  building.  First  came  Christopher  Columbus 
at  the  head ;  then  Romeo  and  Juliet ;  the  Muses, 
three  and  three  ;  George  Washington  and  his  wife, 
accompanied  by  Plato  and  a  shepherdess ;  other  per 
sonages  followed,  and  all  were  mounted  on  roller- 
skates,  and  were  keeping  time  to  the  music  as  well 
as  they  could.  Then  the  rear  was  closed  by  a  sin 
gle  American  Indian  in  a  complete  costume  of  cop 
per-colored  tights,  with  tomahawk,  war-paint,  and 
feathers. 

This  Indian,  as  he  was  alone,  was  conspicuous ; 
and  when  he  skated  into  the  brighter  light,  there 
came  from  that  part  of  the  audience  which  was 
nearest  to  him,  a  sound  of  glee.  The  sound,  how 
ever,  was  instantly  suppressed.  But  it  rose  again 


41 


as  he  sailed  majestically  onward,  in  long  sweeps  to 
the  right  and  the  left,  his  head  erect,  his  tomahawk 
brandished ;  it  increased  to  mirth  which  could  not 
be  stifled.  For  nature  having  given  to  this  brave 
slender  legs,  the  costume-maker  had  supplied  a  her 
culean  pair  of  calves,  and  these  appendages  had 
shifted  their  position,  and  were  now  adorning  the 
front  of  each  limb  at  the  knee,  the  chieftain  mean 
while  remaining  unconscious  of  the  accident,  and 
continuing  to  perform  his  part  with  stateliness  at 
the  end  of  the  skating  line.  Ruth,  with  her  hands 
dropping  helplessly  by  her  side,  laughed  until  her 
mother  came  to  her.  Mrs.  Franklin  herself  was 
laughing  so  that  she  could  hardly  speak.  But  Ruth's 
laughs  sometimes  were  almost  dangerous ;  they  took 
such  complete  possession  of  her. 

"  Give  her  your  arm  and  make  her  walk  up  and 
down,"  said  Mrs.  Franklin  to  Etheridge. 

And  Etheridge  took  the  girl  under  his  charge. 

Chase,  who  had  grinned  silently  each  time  the 
unsuspecting  Moose  came  into  view  (for  the  pro 
cession  had  passed  round  the  arena  three  times), 
now  stepped  down  to  the  skating -floor  as  he  ap 
proached  on  his  fourth  circuit,  and  stopped  him. 
There  was  a  short  conference,  and  then,  amid  peals 
of  mirth,  the  Moose  looked  down,  and  for  the  first 
time  discovered  the  aspect  of  his  knees.  Chase 
signalled  to  the  band  to  stop. 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  said,  "this  Indian 
was  not  aware  of  his  attractions."  (Applause.) 


"  But  now  that  he  knows  what  they  are,  he  will  take 
part  in  the  reel  (which  he  had  not  intended  to  do), 
and  he  will  take  part  as  he  is!  For  the  benefit  of 
the  Mission,  ladies  and  gentlemen.  The  hat  will 
be  passed  immediately  afterwards."  Signing  to  the 
musicians  to  go  on  again,  he  conducted  the  chief  to 
the  space  which  had  been  left  free  for  the  reel,  and 
then,  when  the  other  couples  had  skated  to  their 
places,  he  led  off  with  his  companion  in  a  sort  of 
quickstep  (as  he  had  no  skates) ;  and  it  is  safe  to 
say  that  North  Carolina  had  never  beheld  so  original 
a  dance  as  that  which  followed  (to  the  inexhaustible 
"Starry  Hours"  played  as  a  jig).  Chase  and  the 
Indian  led  and  reled.  Finally  Chase,  with  his  hat 
tilted  back  on  his  head,  and  his  face  extremely  sol 
emn,  balanced  with  his  partner,  taking  so  much  pains 
with  remarkable  fancy  steps,  which  were  immediate 
ly  imitated  by  the  Indian's  embossed  legs,  that  the 
entire  audience  was  weak  from  its  continuous  mirth. 
Then  removing  his  hat,  Chase  made  the  rounds,  prof 
fering  it  with  cordial  invitation  to  all :  "  For  the 
Mission,  ladies  and  gentlemen.  For  Big  Moose's 
Mission." 

Big  Moose,  on  his  way  home  later  (in  his  clergy 
man's  attire  this  time),  was  so  happy  that  he  gave 
thanks.  He  would  have  liked,  indeed,  to  chant  a 
gloria.  For  the  Mission  was  very  near  his  heart, 
and  from  its  beginning  it  had  been  so  painfully  fet 
tered  by  poverty  that,  several  times,  he  had  almost 
despaired.  But  now  that  magic  hat  had  brought  to 


43 


the  struggling  little  fund  more  than  it  had  ever 
dreamed  of  possessing ;  for  underneath  the  dimes 
and  the  quarters  of  Asheville  had  laid  a  fat  roll,  a 
veritable  Golconda  roll  of  greenbacks.  But  one 
person  could  have  given  this  roll,  namely,  the  one 
strano-er,  Horace  Chase. 

O        ' 


CHAPTER    III 

MRS.  FRANKLIN  was  a  widow,  her  husband,  Jared 
Franklin,  having  died  in  1860.  Franklin,  a  hand 
some,  hearty  man,  who  had  enjoyed  every  day  of 
his  life,  had  owned  and  edited  a  well-known  news 
paper  in  one  of  the  large  towns  on  the  Hudson  River. 
This  paper  had  brought  him  in  a  good  income, 
which  he  had  spent  in  his  liberal  way,  year  after 
year.  The  Franklins  were  not  extravagant ;  but  they 
lived  generously,  and  they  all  had  what  they  wanted. 
Their  days  went  on  happily,  for  they  were  fond  of 
each  other,  they  had  the  same  sense  of  humor,  and 
they  took  life  easily,  one  and  all.  But  when  Jared 
Franklin  died  (after  a  sudden  and  short  illness),  it 
was  found  that  he  at  least  had  taken  it  too  easily ; 
for  he  had  laid  aside  nothing,  and  there  were  large 
debts  to  pay.  As  he  had  put  his  only  son,  the  younger 
Jared,  into  the  navy,  the  newspaper  was  sold.  But  it 
did  not  bring  in  so  much  as  was  expected,  and  the 
executors  were  forced  in  the  end  to  sell  the  residence 
also ;  when  the  estate  was  finally  cleared,  the  widow 
found  herself  left  with  no  home,  and,  for  income, 
only  the  small  sum  which  had  come  to  her  from  her 
father,  Major  Seymour,  of  the  army.  In  this  condition 
of  things  her  thoughts  turned  towards  the  South. 


45 


For  her  mother,  Mrs.  Seymour,  was  a  Southerner 
of  Huguenot  descent,  one  of  the  L'Hommedieu  fam 
ily.  And-  Mrs.  Seymour's  eldest  sister,  Miss  Dora 
L'Hommedieu,  had  bequeathed  to  the  niece  (now 
Mrs.  Franklin),  who  had  been  named  after  her,  all 
she  had  to  leave.  This  was  not  much.  But  the 
queer,  obstinate  old  woman  did  own  two  houses,  one 
for  the  summer  among  the  mountains  of  North  Car 
olina,  one  for  the  winter  in  Florida.  For  she  be 
lieved  that  she  owed  her  remarkable  health  and 
longevity  to  a  careful. change  of  climate  twice  each 
year ;  and,  accompanied  by  an  old  negress  as  cross- 
grained  as  herself,  she  had  arrived  in  turn  at  each  of 
these  residences  for  so  many  seasons  that  it  had 
seemed  as  if  she  would  continue  to  arrive  forever. 
In  1859,  however,  her  migrations  ceased. 

At  that  date  the  Franklins  were  still  enjoying 
their  prosperity,  and  this  legacy  of  the  two  ram 
shackle  L'Hommedieu  abodes,  far  away  in  the  South, 
was  a  good  deal  laughed  at  by  Jared  Franklin,  who 
laughed  often.  But  when,  soon  afterwards,  the  blow 
came,  and  his  widow  found  herself  homeless  and 
bereft,  these  houses  seemed  to  beckon  to  her.  They 
could  not  be  sold  while  the  war  lasted,  and  even  after 
that  great  struggle  was  over  no  purchasers  appeared. 
In  the  meantime  they  were  her  own ;  they  would  be 
a  roof,  two  roofs,  over  her  head ;  and  the  milder 
climate  would  be  excellent  for  her  invalid  daughter 
Dolly.  In  addition,  their  reduced  income  would  go 
much  further  there  than  here.  As  soon  after  the 


46 


war,  therefore,  as  it  could  be  arranged,  she  had  made 
the  change,  and  now  for  seven  years  she  had  been 
living  in  old  Dora's  abodes,  very  thankful  to  have 
them. 

Mrs.  Franklin  herself  would  have  said  that  they 
lived  in  North  Carolina ;  that  their  visits  to  Florida 
were  occasional  only.  It  was  true  that  she  had  made 
every  effort  to  dispose  of  the  Florida  place.  "  For 
sale — a  good  coquina  house  on  the  bay,"  had  been 
a  standing  advertisement  in  the  St.  Augustine  Press 
year  after  year.  But  her  hopes  had  been  disap 
pointed,  and  as  the  house  still  remained  hers,  she 
had  only  once  been  able  to  withstand  the  temptation 
of  giving  Dolly  the  benefit  of  the  Florida  climate  in 
the  winter,  little  as  she  could  afford  the  additional 
expense  ;  in  reality,  therefore,  they  had  divided  their 
year  much  as  Miss  L'Hommedieu  had  divided  hers. 

The  adjective  ramshackle,  applied  at  random  by 
Jared  Franklin,  had  proved  to  be  appropriate  enough 
as  regarded  the  North  Carolina  house,  which  old 
Dora  had  named  L'Hommedieu,  after  herself. 
L'llommedieu  was  a  rambling  wooden  structure 
surrounded  by  verandas  ;  it  had  been  built  originally 
by  a  low-country  planter  who  came  up  to  these  moun 
tains  in  the  summer.  But  old  Miss  L'Hommedieu 
had  let  everything  run  down ;  she  had,  in  truth,  no 
money  for  repairs.  When  the  place,  therefore,  came 
into  the  hands  of  her  niece,  it  was  much  dilapidated. 
And  in  her  turn  Mrs.  Franklin  had  done  very  little 
in  the  way  of  renovation,  beyond  stopping  the  leaks 


47 


of  tlic  roof.  Her  daiiglitcr-in-law,  Gcnevieve,  was 
distressed  by  the  aspect  of  everything,  both  without 
and  within.  "You  really  ought  to  have  the  whole 
house  done  over,  mamma,"  she  had  said  more  than 
once.  "  If  you  will  watch  all  the  details  yourself,  it 
need  not  cost  so  very  much  :  see  what  I  have  accom 
plished  at  the  Cottage. 

"  In  time,  in  time,"  Mrs.  Franklin  had  answered. 
But  in  her  heart  she  was  not  fond  of  Genevieve's 
abode ;  she  preferred  the  low-ceilinged  rooms  of 
L'Hommedieu,  shabby  though  they  might  be.  These 
rooms  had,  in  fact,  an  air  of  great  cheerfulness. 
Anthony  Etheridge  was  accustomed  to  say  that  he 
had  never  seen  anywhere  a  better  collection  of  easy- 
chairs.  "There  are  at  least  eight  with  the  long  seat 
which  holds  a  man's  body  comfortably  as  far  as  the 
knees,  as  it  ought  to  held  ;  not  ending  skimpily  half 
way  between  the  knee  and  the  hip  in  the  usual  mis 
erable  fashion !"  Mrs.  Franklin  had  saved  three  of 
these  chairs  from  the  wreck  of  her  northern  home, 
and  the  others  had  been  made,  of  less  expensive 
materials,  under  her  own  eye.  Both  she  and  her 
husband  had  by  nature  a  strong  love  of  ease,  and 
their  children  had  inherited  the  same  disposition; 
it  could  truthfully  be  said  that  as  a  family  they 
made  themselves  comfortable,  and  kept  themselves 
comfortable,  all  day  long. 

They  did  this  at  present  in  the  face  of  obstacles 
which  would  have  made  some  minds  forget  the  very 
name  of  comfort.  For  they  were  far  from  their  old 


•18 


home ;  they  were  cramped  as  to  money ;  there  was 
Dolly's  suffering  to  reckon  with ;  and  there  was  a 
load  of  debt.  The  children,  however,  were  ignorant 
in  a  g-reat  measure  of  this  last  difficulty  ;  whatever 
property  there  was,  belonged  to  Mrs.  Franklin  per 
sonally,  and  she  kept  her  cares  to  herself.  These 
fresh  debts,  made  after  the  estate  had  finally  been 
cleared,  were  incurred  by  the  mother's  deliberate  act 
— an  act  of  folly  or  of  beauty,  according  to  the  point 
from  which  one  views  it ;  after  her  husband's  death 
she  had  borrowed  money  in  order  to  give  to  her 
daughter  Dora  every  possible  aid  and  advantage  in 
her  contest  with  fate — the  long  struggle  which  the 
girl  made  to  ignore  illness,  to  conquer  pain.  These 
sums  had  never  been  repaid,  and  when  the  mother 
thought  of  them,  she  was  troubled.  But  she  did  not 
think  of  them  often  ;  when  she  had  succeeded  (with 
difficulty)  in  paying  the  interest  each  year,  she  was 
able  to  dismiss  the  subject  from  her  mind,  and  re 
turn  to  her  old  habit  of  taking  life  easily  ;  for  nei 
ther  her  father,  the  army  officer,  nor  her  husband,  the 
liberal-handed  editor,  had  ever  taught  her  with  any 
strictness  the  importance  of  a  well-balanced  account. 
Poor  Dolly's  health  had  always  been  uncertain.  But 
when  her  childhood  was  over,her  mother's  tender  help 
from  minute  to  minute  had  kept  her  up  in  a  deter 
mined  attempt  to  follow  the  life  led  by  other  girls  of 
her  age.  A  mother's  love  can  do  much.  But  heredity, 
coming  from  the  past,  blind  and  deaf  to  all  appeal, 
does  more,  and  the  brave  effort  failed.  The  elder  Miss 


49 


Franklin  had  now  been  for  years  an  invalid,  and  an 
invalid  for  whom  no  improvement  could  be  expected  ; 
sometimes  she  was  able,  with  the  aid  of  her  cane,  to 
take  a  walk  of  a  mile's  length,  or  more,  and  often 
several  weeks  would  pass  in  tolerable  comfort ;  but 
sooner  or  later  the  pain  was  sure  to  come  on  again, 
and  it  was  a  pain  very  hard  to  bear.  But  although 
Dolly  was  an  invalid,  she  was  neither  sad  nor  dull. 
Both  she  and  her  mother  were  talkers  by  nature, 
and  they  never  seemed  to  reach  the  end  of  their  in 
terest  in  each  other's  remarks.  Ruth,  too,  was  never 
tired  of  listening  and  laughing  over  Dolly's  sallies. 
The  whole  family,  in  fact,  had  been  born  gay-hearted, 
and  they  were  always  sufficiently  entertained  with 
their  own  conversation  and  their  own  jokes ;  on  the 
stormy  days,  when  they  could  expect  no  visitors, 
they  enjoyed  life  on  the  whole  rather  more  than  they 
did  when  they  had  guests — though  they  were  fond 
of  company  also. 

One  evening,  a  week  after  the  masquerade  at  the 
rink,  Mrs.  Franklin,  leaning  back  in  her  easy-chair 
with  her  feet  on  a  footstool,  was  peacefully  read 
ing  a  novel,  when  she  was  surprised  by  the  entrance 
of  Miss  Breeze ;  she  was  surprised  because  Billy  had 
paid  her  a  visit  in  the  afternoon.  "Yes,  I  thought  I 
would  come  in  again,"  began  Billy,  vaguely.  "  I 
thought  perhaps — or  rather  I  thought  it  would  be 
better—" 

"Take  off  your  bonnet  and  jacket,  won't  you?" 
interposed  Ruth. 


50 


"  Why,  how  smart  you  are,  Billy  !"  remarked  Mrs. 
Franklin,  as  she  noted  her  guest's  best  dress,  and 
the  pink  ribbon  round  her  throat  above  the  collar. 

"Yes,"  began  Billy  again;  "I  thought — it  seemed 
better—" 

"Dolly,"  interrupted  Ruth,  "get  out  planchette, 
and  make  it  write  Billy  a  love  letter !"  And  she 
gave  her  sister  a  glance  which  said  :  "Head  her  off  ! 
Or  she  will  let  it  all  out." 

Dolly  comprehended.  She  motioned  Miss  Breeze 
solemnly  to  a  chair  near  her  table,  and  taking  the 
planchette  from  its  box,  she  arranged  the  paper  un 
der  it. 

"  I  don't  like  it!  I  don't  like  it !"  protested  Mrs. 
Franklin. 

"  His  Grand,  if  you  don't  like  it,  beat  it,"  said 
Ruth,  jumping  up.  "  Give  it  a  question  too  hard  to 
answer.  Go  to  the  dining-room  and  do  something 
— anything  you  like.  Then  planchette  shall  tell  us 
what  it  is — aha  !" 

"  A  good  idea,"  said  Mrs.  Franklin,  significantly. 
And  with  her  light  step  she  left  the  room.  The 
mother  was  as  active  as  a  girl ;  no  one  was  ever  de 
terred,  therefore,  from  asking  her  to  rise,  or  to  move 
about,  by  any  idea  of  age.  She  was  tall,  with  aqui 
line  features,  bright  dark  eyes,  and  thick  silvery 
hair.  As  she  was  thin,  her  face  showed  the  lines 
and  fine  wrinkles  which  at  middle  age  offset  a 
slender  waist.  But,  when  she  was  animated,  these 
lines  disappeared,  for  at  such  moments  her  color 


51 


rose,  the  same  beautiful  color  which  Ruth  had  in 
herited. 

Dolly  sat  with  her  hands  on  the  little  heart-shaped 
board,  pondering  what  she  should  say  ;  for  her  famil 
iar  spirit  was  simply  her  own  quick  invention.  But 
while  it  would  have  been  easy  to  mystify  Miss  Billy, 
it  was  not  easy  to  imagine  what  her  mother,  a  dis 
tinctly  hostile  element,  might  do  for  the  especial  pur 
pose  of  perplexing  the  medium ;  for  although  Mrs. 
Franklin  knew  perfectly  well  that  her  daughter  in 
vented  all  of  planchette's  replies,  she  remained  nev 
ertheless  strongly  opposed  to  even  this  pretended 
occultism.  Dolly  therefore  pondered.  But,  as  she 
did  so,  she  was  saying  to  herself  that  it  was  useless 
to  ponder,  and  that  she  might  as  well  select  some 
thing  at  random,  when  suddenly  there  sprang  into 
her  mind  a  word,  a  word  apropos  of  nothing  at  all, 
and,  obeying  an  impulse,  she  wrote  it ;  that  is,  plan- 
chette  wrote  it  under  the  unseen  propelling  power 
of  her  long  fingers.  Then  Ruth  pushed  the  board 
aside,  and  they  all  read  the  word ;  it  was  "  grin 
ning." 

"Grinning?"  repeated  Ruth.  "How  absurd! 
Imagine  mother  grinning !" 

"  She  opened  the  door,  and  called,  "  What  did 
you  do,  His  Grand  ?" 

"  Wishing  to  expose  that  very  skilful  pretender, 
Miss  Dora  Franklin,  I  did  the  most  unlikely  thing  I 
could  think  of,"  answered  Mrs.  Franklin's  voice.  "  I 
went  to  the  mirror,  and  standing  in  front  of  it,  I 


grinned  at  my  own  image ;  grinned  like  a  Cheshire 
cat." 

Miss  Billy  looked  at  Dolly  with  frightened  eyes. 
Dolly  herself  was  startled ;  she  crumpled  the  paper 
and  threw  it  hastily  into  the  waste-basket. 

Mrs.  Franklin,  returning  through  the  hall,  was  met 
by  Anthony  Etheridge,  who  had  entered  without 
ringing,  merely  giving  a  preliminary  tap  on  the  out 
er  door  with  his  walking-stick.  Dolly  began  to  talk 
as  soon  as  they  came  in,  selecting  a  subject  which 
had  nothing  to  do  with  planchette.  For  the  uncon 
scious  knowledge  which,  of  late  years,  she  seemed 
to  possess,  regarding  the  thoughts  in  her  mother's 
mind,  troubled  them  both. 

"Commodore,  I  have  something  to  tell  you.  It 
is  for  you  especially,  for  I  have  long  known  your  se 
cret  attachment !  From  my  window,  I  can  see  that 
field  behind  the  Mackintosh  house.  Imagine  my  be 
holding  Maud  Muriel  opening  the  gate  this  after 
noon,  crossing  to  the  big  bush  in  the  centre,  seating 
herself  behind  it,  taking  a  long  clay  pipe  from  her 
pocket,  filling  it,  lighting  it,  and  smoking  it !" 

"  No !"  exclaimed  Etheridge,  breaking  into  a  re 
sounding  laugh.  "  Could  she  make  it  go  ?" 

"  Not  very  well,  I  think ;  I  took  my  opera-glass 
and  watched  her.  Her  face,  as  she  puffed  away, 
was  exactly  as  solemn  as  it  is  when  she  models  her 
deadly  busts." 

"  Ho,  ho,  ho  !"  roared  Etheridge  again.  "  Ladies, 
excuse  me.  I  have  always  thought  that  girl  might 


53 


be  a  genius  if  she  could  only  get  drunk  !     Perhaps 
the  pipe  is  a  beginning." 

While  he  was  saying  this,  Horace  Chase  was  ush 
ered  in.  A  moment  later  there  came  another  ring, 
and  the  Rev.  Mr.  Hill  appeared,  followed  by  Achil 
les  Larue. 

"  Why,  I  have  a  party  !"  said  Mrs.  Franklin,  smil 
ing,  as  she  welcomed  the  last  comer. 

"  Yes,  His  Grand,  it  is  a  party,"  said  Ruth.  "  Now 
you  may  know,  since  they  are  here,  and  you  cannot 
stop  it.  I  invited  them  all  myself,  late  this  after 
noon  ;  and  it  is  a  molasses-candy-pulling  ;  Dolly  and 
I  have  arranged  it.  We  did  not  tell  you  beforehand, 
because  we  knew  you  would  say  it  was  sticky." 

"  Sticky  it  is,"  replied  Mrs.  Franklin. 

"  Vilely  sticky  !"  added  Etheridge,  emphatically. 

"  And  then  we  knew,  also,  that  you  would  say  that 
you  could  not  get  up  a  supper  in  so  short  a  time," 
Ruth  went  on.  "  But  Zoe  has  had  her  sister  to  help 
her,  and  ever  so  many  nice  things  are  all  ready ; 
chicken  salad,  for  instance ;  and — listen,  His  Grand 
— a  long  row  of  macaroon  custards,  each  cup  with 
three  macaroons  dissolved  in  madeira !"  And  then 
she  intoned  the  family  chant,  Dolly  joining  in  from 
her  easy-chair : 

"  Mother  Franklin  thinks, 
That  General  Jackson, 
Jared  the  Sixth, 
Macaroon  custards, 
And  Bishop  Carew, 
Are  per-/«?c-tion !" 


f>4 


"  What  docs  she  mean  by  that  ?"  said  Chase  to 
Miss  Billy. 

"  Oh,  it  is  only  one  of  their  jokes ;  they  have  so 
many  !  Dear  Mrs.  Franklin  was  brought  up  by  her 
father  to  admire  General  Jackson,  and  Dolly  and 
Ruth  pretend  that  she  thinks  he  is  still  at  the  White 
House.  And  Jared  the  Sixth  means  her  son,  you 
know.  And  they  say  she  is  fond  of  macaroon  cus 
tards  ;  that  is,  fondish"  added  Miss  Billy,  getting 
in  the  "  ish  "  with  inward  satisfaction.  "  And  she 
is  much  attached  to  Bishop  Carew.  But,  for  that 
matter,  so  are  we  all." 

"  A  Roman  Catholic  ?"  inquired  Chase. 

"He  is  our  bishop  —  the  Episcopal  Bishop  of 
North  Carolina,"  answered  Miss  Breeze,  surprised. 

"  Oh  !  I  didn't  know.  I'm  a  Baptist  myself.  Or 
at  least  my  parents  were,"  explained  Chase. 

The  kitchen  of  L'Hommedieu  was  large  and  low, 
with  the  beams  showing  overhead ;  it  had  a  huge 
fireplace  with  an  iron  crare.  This  evening  a  pot 
dangled  from  the  crane ;  it  held  the  boiling  molas 
ses,  and  Zoe,  brilliant  in  a  new  scarlet  turban  in 
honor  of  the  occasion,  was  stirring  the  syrup  with  a 
long-handled  'spoon.  One  of  the  easy-chairs  had 
been  brought  from  the  parlor  for  Dolly.  Malachi 
Hill  seated  himself  beside  her ;  he  seemed  uneasy ; 
he  kept  his  hat  in  his  hand.  "  I  did  not  know  that  Mr. 
Chase  was  to  be  here,  Miss  Dolly,  or  I  would  not 
have  come,"  he  said  to  his  companion,  in  an  under 
tone.  "  I  can't  think  what  to  make  of  myself — I'm 


becoming  a  regular  cormorant !  Strange  to  say,  in 
stead  of  being  satisfied  with  all  he  has  given  to  the 
Mission,  I  want  more.  I  keep  thinking  of  all  the 
good  he  might  do  in  these  mountains  if  he  only 
knew  the  facts,  and  I  have  fairly  to  hold  myself  in 
when  he  is  present,  to  keep  from  flattering  him  and 
getting  further  help.  Yes,  it's  as  bad  as  that !  Cler 
gymen,  you  know,  are  always  accused  of  paying  court 
to  rich  men,  or  rather  to  liberal  men.  For  the  first 
time  in  my  life  I  understand  the  danger !  It's  a 
dreadful  temptation — it  is  indeed.  I  really  think, 
Miss  Dolly,  that  I  had  better  go." 

"No,  you  needn't;  I'll  see  to  you,"  answered  Dolly. 
"  If  I  notice  you  edging  up  too  near  him,  I'll  give  a 
loud  ahem.  Stay  and  amuse  yourself ;  you  know 
you  like  it." 

And  Malachi  Hill  did  like  it.  In  his  mission-work 
he  was  tirelessly  energetic,  self-sacrificing,  devoted  ; 
on  the  other  hand,  he  was  as  fond  of  merrymaking 
as  a  boy.  He  pulled  the  candy  with  glee,  but  also 
with  eager  industry,  covering  platter  after  platter 
with  his  braided  sticks.  His  only  rival  in  diligence 
was  Chase,  who  also  showed  great  energy.  Dolly 
pulled  ;  Mrs.  Franklin  pulled  ;  even  Etheridge  helped. 
Ruth  did  not  accomplish  much,  for  she  stopped  too 
often  ;  but  when  she  did  work  she  drew  out  the  fra 
grant  strands  to  a  greater  length  than  any  oneAelse 
attempted,  and  she  made  wheels  of  it,  and  silhou 
ettes  of  all  the  company,  including  Mr.  Trone.  Miss 
Billy  had  begun  with  much  interest;  then,  seeing 


5  0 


that  Larue  had  done  nothing  beyond  arranging  the 
platters  and  plates  in  mathematical  order  on  the  table, 
she  stopped,  slipped  out,  and-  went  up-stairs  to  wash 
her  hands.  When  she  returned,  fortune  favored  her  ; 
the  only  vacant  seat  was  one  near  him,  and,  after  a 
short  hesitation,  she  took  it.  Larue  did  not  speak ; 
he  was  looking  at  Ruth,  who  was  now  pulling  candy 
with  Horace  Chase,  drawing  out  the  golden  rope  to  a 
yard's  length,  and  throwing  the  end  back  to  him  gayly. 

Finally,  when  not  even  the  painstaking  young  mis 
sionary  could  scrape  another  drop  from  the  exhaust 
ed  pot,  Dolly,  taking  her  violin,  played  a  waltz. 
The  uncarpeted  floor  was  tempting,  and  after  all  the 
sticky  hands  had  been  washed,  the  dancing  began — 
Ruth  with  Chase,  Etheridge  with  Miss  Billy ;  then 
Etheridge  with  Mrs.  Franklin,  while  Miss  Billy  re 
turned  quickly  to  her  precious  chair. 

"  But  these  dances  do  not  compare  with  the  old 
ones,"  said  Mrs.  Franklin,  when  they  had  paused  to 
let  Dolly  rest.  "There  was  the  mazurka;  and  the 
varsovienne  —  how  pretty  that  was!  La-la-la,  la, 
la!"  And  humming  the  tune,  she  took  a  step  or 
two  lightly.  Etheridge,  who  knew  the  varsovienne, 
joined  her. 

"  Go  on,"  said  Ruth.  "  I'll  whistle  it  for  you." 
And  sitting  on  the  edge  of  a  table  she  whistled  the 
tune,  while  the  two  dancers  circled  round  the  kitch 
en,  looking  extremely  well  together. 

"  Whistling  girls,  you  know,"  said  Chase,  warn- 
ingly. 


He  had  joined  Ruth,  and  was  watching  her  as  she 
performed  her  part.  She  kept  on,  undisturbed  by 
his  jests,  bending  her  head  a  little  to  the  right  and 
to  the  left  in  time  with  the  music  ;  her  whistling  was 
as  clear  as  a  flute. 

"And  then  there  was  the  heel-and-toe  polka. 
Surely  you  remember  that,  commodore,"  pursued 
Mrs.  Franklin,  with  inward  malice. 

For  the  heel-and-toe  was  a  very  ancient  memory. 
It  was  considered  old  when  she  herself  had  seen  it 
as  a  child. 

"  Never  heard  of  it  in  my  life,"  answered  Eth- 
eridge.  "  Hum — ha." 

"  Oh,  I  know  the  heel-and-toe,"  cried  Ruth.  "  I 
learned  it  from  mother  ages  ago,  just  for  fun.  Are 
you  rested,  Dolly  ?  Play  it,  please,  and  mother  and 
I  will  show  them. 

Dolly  began,  and  then  Mrs.  Franklin  and  Ruth, 
tall,  slender  mother,  and  tall,  slender  daughter,  each 
with  one  arm  round  the  other's  waist,  and  the  re 
maining  arm  held  curved  above  the  head,  danced 
down  the  long  room  together,  taking  the  steps  of 
the  queer  Polish  dance  with  charming  grace  and 
precision. 

"Oh,  dear  Mrs.  Franklin,  so  young  and  cheerful! 
So  pleasant  to  see  her,  is  it  not  ?  So  lovely  !  Don't 
you  think  so  ?  And  dancing  is  so  interesting  in  so 
many  ways !  Though,  of  course,  there  are  other 
amusements  equally  to  be  desired,"  murmured  Miss 
Billy,  incoherently,  to  Larue. 


58 


"  Now  we  will  have  a  quadrille,  and  I  will  impro 
vise  the  figures,"  said  Ruth.  "  Mother  and  the  com 
modore  ;  Miss  Billy  and  Mr.  Larue ;  Mr.  Chase  with 
me ;  and  we  will  take  turns  in  making  the  fourth 
couple." 

"  Unfortunately,  I  don't  dance,"  observed  Larue. 

"  Spoil-sport !  "  said  Ruth,  annihilatingly. 

"  You  got  it  that  time,"  remarked  Chase,  condol- 
ingly,  to  the  other  man. 

"  Miss  Ruth,  I  can  take  the  senator's  place,  if  you 
like,"  said  Malachi  Hill,  springing  up,  good-naturedly. 

Since  the  termination  of  the  candy-pulling,  he  had 
been  sitting  contentedly  beside  Dolly,  watching  her 
play,  and  regaling  himself  meanwhile  with  a  stick  of 
the  fresh  compound,  its  end  carefully  enveloped  in 
a  holder  of  paper. 

"  Excellent,"  said  Ruth.  "  Please  take  Miss  Billy, 
then." 

Poor  Miss  Billy,  obliged  to  dance  with  a  misguided 
clergyman  !  This  time  there  was  not  the  excuse  of 
the  Mission  ;  it  was  a  real  dance.  He  already  smoked; 
the  next  step  certainly  would  be  cards  and  horse- 
racing  !  "While  she  was  taking  her  place,  Rinda 
ushered  in  a  new  guest. 

"  Maud  Muriel — how  lucky  !"  exclaimed  Ruth. 
"  You  are  the  very  person  we  need,  for  we  are  trying 
to  get  up  a  quadrille,  and  have  not  enough  persons. 
I  know  you  like  to  dance  ?" 

"Yes,  I  like  it  very  much — for  hygienic  reasons 
principally,"  responded  the  new-comer. 


59 


"  Please  take  my  place,  then,"  Ruth  went  on. 
"  This  is  Mr.  Chase,  Miss  Maud  Mackintosh.  Now 
we  will  see  if  our  generic  geologist  and  sensational 
senator  will  refuse  to  dance  with  m<?."  And  sinking 
suddenly  on  her  knees  before  Lame,  Ruth  extended 
her  hands  in  petition. 

"What  is  all  that  she  called  him,  Miss  Maud?"  in 
quired  Chase,  laughing. 

"  Miss  Mackintosh,"  said  his  partner,  correctively. 
"  They  are  only  alliterative  adjectives,  Mr.  Chase, 
rather  indiscriminately  applied.  Ruth  is  apt  to  be 
indiscriminate." 

Lame  had  risen,  and  Ruth  triumphantly  led  him 
to  his  place.  He  knew  that  she  was  laughing  at  him ; 
in  fact,  as  he  went  through  the  figures  calmly,  his 
partner  mimicked  him  to  his  face.  But  he  was  in 
different  alike  to  her  laughter  and  her  mimicry ; 
what  he  was  noticing  was  her  beauty.  If  he  had 
been  speaking  of  her,  he  would  have  called  her 
"  prettyish "  ;  but  as  he  was  only  thinking,  he  al 
lowed  himself  to  note  the  charm  of  her  eyes  for  the 
moment,  the  color  in  her  cheeks  and  lips.  For  he 
was  sure  that  it  was  only  for  the  moment.  "  The 
coloring  is  evanescent,"  was  his  mental  criticism. 
"  Her  beauty  will  not  last.  For  she  is  handsome 
only  when  she  is  happy,  and  happiness  for  her 
means  doing  exactly  as  she  pleases,  and  having  her 
own  way  unchecked.  No  woman  can  do  that  for 
ever.  By  the  time  she  is  thirty  she  may  be  absolute 
ly  plain." 


60 


Maud  Muriel  had  laid  aside  her  hat  and  jacket. 
She  possessed  a  wealth  of  beautiful  red  hair,  whose 
thick  mass  was  combed  so  tightly  back  from  her 
forehead  that  it  made  her  wink ;  her  much-exposed 
countenance  was  not  at  all  handsome,  though  her 
hazel  eyes  were  large,  calm,  and  clear.  She  was  a 
spinster  of  thirty-six — tall  and  thin,  with  large  bones. 
And  from  her  hair  to  her  heels  she  was  abnormally, 
extraordinarily  straight.  She  danced  with  much  vigor, 
scrutinizing  Chase,  and  talking  to  him  in  the  inter 
vals  between  the  figures.  These  intervals,  however, 
were  short,  for  Ruth  improvised  with  rapidity.  Fi 
nally  she  kept  them  all  flying  round  in  a  circle  so  long 
that  Mrs.  Franklin,  breathless,  signalled  that  she 
must  pause. 

"  Now  we  are  all  hungry,"  said  Ruth.  "  Zoe,  see 
to  the  coffee.  And,  Rinda,  you  may  make  ready 
here.  *  We  won't  go  to  the  dining-room,  His  Grand  ; 
it's  much  more  fun  in  the  kitchen." 

Various  inviting  dishes  were  soon  arrayed  upon  a 
table.  And  then  Ruth,  to  pass  away  the  time  until 
the  coffee  should  be  ready,  began  to  sing.  All  the 
Franklins  sang;  Miss  Billy  had  a  sweet  soprano, 
Maud  Muriel  a  resonant  contralto,  and  Malachi  Hill 
a  tenor  of  power ;  Etheridge,  when  he  chose,  could 
add  bass  notes. 

"Hark,  the  merry  merry  Christ-Church  bells, 

One,  two,  three,  four,  five,  six ; 
They  sound  so  strong,  so  wondrous  sweet, 
And  they  troll  so  merrily,  merrily." 


61 


Horace  Chase  took  no  part  in  the  catch  song ;  he 
sat  looking;  at  the  others.  It  was  the  Franklin  fam 
ily  who  held  his  attention — the  mother  singing  with 
light-hearted  animation  ;  Dolly  playing  her  part  on 
her  violin,  and  singing  it  also ;  and  Ruth,  who,  with 
her  hands  clasped  behind  her  head,  was  carolling  like 
a  bird.  To  Chase's  mind  it  seemed  odd  that  a 
woman  so  old  as  Mrs.  Franklin,  a  woman  with  silver 
hair  and  grown-up  children,  should  like  to  dance  and 
sing.  Dolly  was  certainly  a  very  "live"  invalid! 
And  Ruth — well,  Ruth  was  enchanting.  Horace 
Chase's  nature  was  always  touched  by  beauty ;  he 
was  open  to  its  influences,  it  had  been  so  from  boy 
hood.  What  he  admired  was  not  regularity  of  feat 
ure,  but  simply  the  seductive  sweetness  of  woman 
hood.  And,  young  as  she  was,  Ruth  Franklin's  face 
was  full  of  this  charm.  He  looked  at  her  again  as 
she  sat  singing  the  chorus: 

"Hark,  the  first  and  second  bell, 
Ring  every  day  at  four  and  ten  " — 

Then  his  gaze  wandered  round  the  kitchen.  From 
part  of  the  wall  the  plastering  was  gone  ;  it  had  fallen, 
and  had  never  been  replaced.  The  housewives  whom 
he  had  hitherto  known,  so  he  said  to  himself,  would 
have  preferred  to  have  their  walls  repaired,  and 
spend  less,  if  necessary,  upon  dinners.  Suppers,  too! 
(Here  he  noted  the  rich  array  on  the  kitchen  table.) 
This  array  was  completed  presently  by  the  arrival 
of  the  coffee,  which  filled  the  room  with  its  fragrant 


aroma,  and  the  supper  was  consumed  amid  much 
merriment.  When  the  clock  struck  twelve,  Maud 
Muriel  rose.  "  I  must  be  going,"  she  said.  "  Wil- 
helmina,  I  came  for  you ;  that  is  what  brought  me. 
When  I  learned  at  the  hotel  that  you  were  here, 
I  followed  for  the  purpose  of  seeing  you  home." 

"  Allow  me  the  pleasure  of  accompanying  you 
both,"  said  Chase. 

"That  is  not  necessary;  I  always  see  to  Wilhel- 
mina,"  answered  Miss  Mackintosh,  as  she  put  on  her 
hat. 

"  Yes ;  she  is  so  kind,"  murmured  Miss  Billy.  But 
Miss  Billy  in  her  heart  believed  that  in  some  way 
or  other  Achilles  Larue  would  yet  be  her  escort 
(though  he  never  had  been  that,  or  anything  else,  in 
all  the  years  of  their  acquaintance).  He  was  still  in 
the  house, .and  so  was  she  ;  something  might  happen ! 

What  happened  was  that  Larue  took  leave  of  Mrs. 
Franklin,  and  went  off  alone. 

Then  Billy  said  to  herself  :  "  On  the  whole,  I'm 
glad  he  didn't  suggest  it.  For  it  is  only  five  minutes' 
walk  to  the  hotel,  and  if  he  had  gone  with  me  it 
would  have  counted  as  a  call,  and  then  he  needn't 
have  done  anything  more  for  a  long  time.  So  I'm 
glad  he  did  not  come.  Very." 

"  Maud  Muriel,"  demanded  Dolly,  "  why  select  a 
clay  pipe  ?" 

"  Oh,  did  you  see  me  ?"  inquired  Miss  Mackintosh, 
composedly.  "  I  use  a  clay  pipe,  Dolly,  because  it 
is  cleaner ;  I  can  always  have  a  new  one.  Smoking 


63 


is  said  to  insure  the  night's  rest,  and  so  I  thought  it 
best  to  learn  it,  as  my  brother's  children  are  singu 
larly  active  at  night.  I  have  been  practising  for 
three  weeks,  and  I  generally  go  to  the  woods,  where 
no  one  can  see  me.  But  to-day  I  did  not  have 
time." 

Chase  broke  into  a  laugh.  Etheridge  had  emitted 
another  ho,  ho,  ho !  Then  he  gave  Maud  a  jovial 
tap.  "  My  dear  young  lady,  don't  go  to  the  woods. 
Let  me  come,  with  another  clay  pipe,  and  be  your 
protector." 

"  I  have  never  needed  a  protector  in  my  life,"  re 
plied  Miss  Mackintosh  ;  "  I  don't  know  what  that 
feeling  is.  commodore.  I  secrete  myself  simply  be 
cause  people  might  not  understand  my  motives ; 
they  might  think  that  I  was  secretly  given  to  disso 
lute  courses.  Are  you  ready,  Wilhelmina  ?" 

As  the  two  ladies  opened  the  outer  door  and  step 
ped  forth  into  the  darkness,  Chase,  not  deterred  by 
the  rebuff  he  had  received  from  the  stalwart  vir 
gin,  passed  her,  and  offered  his  arm  to  the  gentler 
Miss  Billy.  And  then  Malachi  Hill,  feeling  that  he 
must,  advanced  to  offer  himself  as  escort  for  the  re 
maining  lady. 

"  Poor  manikin  !  Do  you  think  I  need  you  ?"  in 
quired  the  sculptress  sarcastically,  under  her  breath. 

The  young  clergyman  disappeared.  He  did  not 
actually  run.  But  he  was  round  the  corner  in  an  as 
tonishingly  short  space  of  time. 

Etheridge  was  the  last  to  take  leave.     "  Well,  you 


made  a  very  merry  party  for  your  bubbling  friend," 
he  said  to  Mrs.  Franklin. 

"  It  wasn't  for  him"  she  answered. 

"  He  is  not  mother's  bubbling  friend,  and  he  is 
not  Dolly's,  either,"  said  Ruth  ;  "  he  is  mine  alone. 
Mother  and  Dolly  do  not  in  the  least  appreciate  him." 

"  Is  he  worth  much  appreciation  ?"  inquired  Ether- 
idge,  noting  her  beauty  as  Larue  had  noted  it. 
"  How  striking  she  grows  !"  he  thought.  And,  for 
getting  for  the  moment  what  they  were  talking  about, 
he  looked  at  her  as  Chase  had  looked. 

Meanwhile  Ruth  was  answering,  girlishly:  "Much 
appreciation?  All,  commodore — all.  Mr.  Chase  is 
splendid  /" 


CHAPTER    IV 

NOTHING  could  exceed  the  charm  of  the  early  sum 
mer,  that  year,  in  this  high  valley.  The  amphithea 
tre  of  mountains  had  taken  on  fresher  robes  of  green, 
the  air  was  like  champagne ;  it  would  have  been  dif 
ficult  to  say  which  river  danced  more  gayly  along  its 
course,  the  foam-flecked  French  Broad,  its  clear  water 
open  to  the  sunshine,  or  the  little  Swannanoa,  frol 
icking  through  the  forest  in  the  shade. 

One  morning,  a  few  days  after  the  candy- pulling 
at  L'Hommedieu,  even  Maud  Muriel  was  stirred  to 
admiration  as  she  threw  open  the  blinds  of  her  bed 
room  at  her  usual  early  hour.  "  No  humidity.  And 
great  rarefaction,"  she  said  to  herself,  as  she  tried 
the  atmosphere  with  a  tentative  snort.  Maud  Muriel 
lived  with  her  brother,  Thomas  Mackintosh  ;  that  is, 
she  had  a  room  under  his  roof  and  a  seat  at  his  table. 
But  she  did  not  spend  much  time  at  home,  rather  to 
the  relief  of  Mrs.  Thomas  Mackintosh,  an  easy-going 
Southern  woman,  with  several  young  children,  in 
cluding  an  obstreperous  pair  of  twins.  Maud  Muriel, 
dismissing  the  landscape,  took  a  conscientious  sponge- 
bath,  and  went  down  to  breakfast.  After  breakfast, 
on  her  way  to  her  studio,  she  stopped  for  a  moment 
to  see  Miss  Billy.  "  At  any  rate,  I  walk  well,"  she 


GO 


had  often  thought  with  pride.  And  to-day,  as  she 
approached  the  hotel,  she  was  so  straight  that  her 
shoulders  tipped  backward. 

Miss  Billy  was  staying  at  the  inn.  This  hotel  bore 
the  name  "  The  Old  North  State,"  the  loving  title 
given  by  native  North-Carolinians  to  their  common 
wealth  —  a  commonwealth  which,  in  its  small  long- 
settled  towns,  its  old  farms,  and  in  the  names  of  its 
people,  shows  less  change  in  a  hundred  years  than 
any  other  portion  of  the  Union.  The  Old  North,  as 
it  was  called,  was  a  wooden  structure  painted  white, 
with  outside  blinds  of  green  ;  in  front  of  it  extended 
a  row  of  magnificent  maple-trees.  Miss  Billy  had  a 
small  sitting-room  on  the  second  floor;  Maud  Muriel, 
paying  no  attention  to  the  negro  servants,  went  up 
the  uncarpeted  stairway  to  her  friend's  apartment, 
and,  as  she  opened  the  door,  she  caught  sight  of  this 
friend  carefully  rolling  a  waste  bit  of  string  into  a 
small  ball. 

"  Too  late — I  saw  you,"  she  said.  (For  Miss  Billy 
had  nervously  tried  to  hide  the  ball.)  "  I  know  you 
have  at  least  fifty  more  little  wads  of  the  same  sort 
somewhere,  arranged  in  graded  rows  !  A  new  ball 
of  string  of  the  largest  size — enough  to  last  a  year — 
costs  a  dime,  Wilhelmina.  You  must  have  a  singular- 
lv  defective  sense  of  proportion  to  be  willing  to  give 
many  minutes  (for  I  have  even  seen  you  taking  out 
knots  !)  to  a  substance  whose  value  really  amounts  to 
about  the  thousandth  part  of  a  cent !  I  have  stop 
ped  on  my  way  to  the  barn  to  tell  you  two  things, 


Wilhelmina.  One  is  that  I  do  not  like  your  '  Moun 
tain  Walk.' "  Here  she  took  a  roll  of  delicately 
written  manuscript,  tied  with  blue  ribbons,  from  her 
pocket,  and  placed  it  on  the  table.  "  It  is  supposed 
to  be  about  trees,  isn't  it  ?  But  you  do  not  describe 
a  single  one  with  the  least  accuracy  ;  all  you  do  is  to 
impute  to  them  various  allegorical  sentiments,  which 
no  tree — a  purely  vegetable  production — ever  had." 

"  It  was  only  a  beginning  —  leading  up  to  a  study 
of  the  pre-Adamite  trees,  which  I  hope  to  make, 
later,"  Miss  Billy  answered.  "Ruskin,  you  know — " 

"  You  need  not  quote  Ruskin  to  me  —  a  man  who 
criticises  sculpture  without  any  practical  knowledge 
whatever  of  human  anatomy  ;  a  man  who  subordi 
nates  correct  drawing  in  a  picture  to  the  virtuous 
state  of  mind  of  the  artist !  If  Raskin's  theory  is 
true,  very  good  persons  who  visit  the  poor  and  go  to 
church,  are,  if  they  dabble  in  water-colors,  or  pen- 
and-ink  sketches,  the  greatest  of  artists,  because 
their  piety  is  sincere.  And  vice  versa.  The  history 
of  art  shows  that,  doesn't  it?"  commented  Maud, 
ironically.  "  I  am  sorry  to  see  that  you  sat  up  so 
late  last  night,  Wilhelmina." 

"  Why,  how  do  you  know  2"  said  Miss  Billy,  guilt 
ily  conscious  of  midnight  reading. 

"  By  the  deep  line  between  your  eyebrows.  You 
must  see  to  that,  or  you  will  be  misjudged  by  scien 
tific  minds.  For  marked,  lined,  or  wrinkled  fore 
heads  indicate  criminal  tendencies ;  the  statistics  of 
prisons  prove  it.  To-night  put  on  two  pieces  of 


08 


strong  sticking-plaster  at  the  temples,  to  draw  the 
skin  back.  The  other  thing  I  had  to  tell  you  is  that 
the  result  of  my  inquiries  of  a  friend  at  the  North 
who  keeps  in  touch  with  the  latest  investigations  of 
Liebeault  and  the  Germans,  is,  that  there  may,  after 
all,  be  something  in  the  subject  you  mentioned  to 
me,  namely,  the  possibility  of  influencing  a  person, 
not  present,  by  means  of  an  effort  of  will.  So  we 
will  try  it  now  —  for  five  minutes.  Fix  your  eyes 
steadily  upon  that  figure  of  the  carpet,  Wilhelmina  " 
— she  indicated  a  figure  with  her  parasol  —  "and  I 
will  do  the  same.  As  subject  we  will  take  my  sister- 
in-law.  We  will  will  her  to  whip  the  twins.  Are 
you  ready  ?"  She  took  out  her  watch.  "  Begin, 
then." 

Miss  Billy,  though  secretly  disappointed  in  the 
choice  of  subject,  tried  hard  to  fix  her  mind  upon 
the  proposed  castigation.  But  in  spite  of  her  efforts 
her  thoughts  would  stray  to  the  carpet  itself,  to  the 
pattern  of  the  figure,  and  its  reds  and  greens. 

"  Time's  up,"  announced  Maud,  replacing  her 
watch  in  the  strong  watch-pocket  on  the  outside  of 
her  skirt ;  "  I'll  tell  you  whether  the  whipping  comes 
off.  Do  you  think  it  is  decent,  Wilhelmina,  to  be 
dressing  and  undressing  yourself  whenever  you  wish 
to  know  what  time  it  is  ?"  (For  Miss  Billy,  who  tried 
to  follow  the  fashions  to  some  extent,  was  putting 
her  own  watch  back  in  her  bodice,  which  she  had 
unbuttoned  for  the  purpose.)  "  Woman  will  never 
be  the  equal  of  man  until  she  has  grasped  the  con- 


ception  that  the  position  of  her  pockets  should  be 
unchangeable,"  Maud  went  on. 

"  I  think  I  will  go  with  you  as  far  as  L'Homme- 
dieu,"  suggested  Billy,  ignoring  the  subject  of  the 
watch-pocket  (an  old  one).  "  I  have  some  books  to 
take,  so  I  may  as  well."  She  put  on  her  hat,  and 
piled  eight  dilapidated  paper-covered  volumes  on  her 
arm. 

"  Are  you  still  collecting  vapid  literature  for  that 
feather-headed  woman  ?"  inquired  Maud.  For  Billy 
wrent  all  over  Asheville,  to  every  house  she  knew, 
and  probed  in  old  closets  and  bookcases  in  search  of 
novels  for  Mrs.  Franklin.  For  years  she  had  per 
formed  this  office.  When  Mrs.  Franklin  had  finished 
reading  one  set  of  volumes,  Billy  carried  them 
back  to  their  owners,  and  then  roamed  and  foraged 
for  more. 

"  If  you  do  go  as  far  as  L'Hommedieu,  you  must 
stop  there  definitely;  you  must  not  go  on  to  the 
barn,"  Maud  Muriel  announced,  as  they  went  down 
the  stairs.  "  For  if  you  do,  you  will  stay.  And 
then  I  shall  be  going  back  with  you,  to  see  to  you. 
And  then  you  will  be  coming  part  way  back  with 
me,  to  talk.  And  thus  we  shall  be  going  home  with 
each  other  all  the  rest  of  the  day !"  She  passed 
out  and  crossed  the  street,  doing  it  in  the  face  of 
the  leaders  of  a  team  of  six  horses  attached  to 
one  of  the  huge  mountain  wagons,  which  are  shaped 
like  boats  tilted  up  behind ;  for  two  files  of  these 
wagons,  heavily  loaded,  were  coming  slowly  up  the 


70 


road.  Miss  Billy  started  to  cross  also,  but  after 
three  or  four  steps  she  turned  and  hurried  back 
to  the  curb-stone.  Then  suddenly  she  started  a  sec 
ond  time,  running  first  in  one  direction,  then  in  an 
other,  and  finally  and  unexpectedly  in  a  third,  so 
that  the  drivers  of  the  wagons  nearest  to  her,  and 
even  the  very  horses  themselves,  were  filled  with  per 
plexity  as  to  the  course  which  she  wished  to  pursue. 
Miss  Billy,  meanwhile,  finding  herself  hemmed  in, 
began  to  shriek  wildly.  The  drivers  in  front  stretched 
their  necks  round  the  corners  of  the  canvas  hoods 
erected,  like  gigantic  Shaker  bonnets,  over  their  high- 
piled  loads,  in  order  to  see  what  was  the  matter. 
And  the  drivers  who  were  behind  stood  up  and 
peered  forward.  But  they  could  make  out  nothing, 
and,  as  Miss  Billy  continued  her  yells,  the  whole  pro 
cession,  and  with  it  the  entire  traffic  of  the  main 
street,  came  slowly  to  a  pause.  The  pause  was  not 
long.  The  energetic  Maud  Muriel,  jerking  up  the 
heads  of  two  of  the  leaders,  made  a  dive,  caught 
hold  of  her  frightened  friend,  and  drew  her  out  by 
main  strength.  The  horses  whom  she  had  thus 
attacked,  shook  themselves.  "  Hep  !"  called  their 
driver.  "  Hep  !"  called  the  other  drivers,  in  various 
keys.  And  then,  one  by  one,  with  a  jerk  and  a  creak, 
the  great  wains  started  on  again. 

When  the  friends  reached  L'Hommedieu,  Billy 
was  still  trembling. 

"  I'd  better  take  them  in  for  you,"  said  Maud 
Muriel,  referring  to  the  load  of  books  which  Billy  was 


71 


carrying  for  her  companion.  They  found  Dolly  in 
the  parlor,  winding  silk  for  her  next  pair  of  stock 
ings.  "  Here  are  some  volumes  which  Wilhelmina 
is  bringing  to  Mrs.  Franklin,"  said  Maud  Muriel,  de 
positing  the  pile  on  a  table. 

"  More  novels  ?"  said  Dolly.  "  I'm  so  glad. 
Thank  you,  Miss  Billy.  For  mother  really  has  noth 
ing  for  to-day.  The  one  she  had  yesterday  was 
very  dull ;  she  said  she  was  *  worrying '  through  it. 
It  was  a  story  about  female  suffrage — as  though  any 
one  could  care  for  that !" 

"  Care  for  it  or  not,  it  is  sure  to  come,"  declared 
Miss  Mackintosh, 

"  Yes,  in  A.D.  5000." 

"  Sooner,  much  sooner.  We  may  not  see  it," 
pursued  Maud  Muriel,  putting  up  her  finger  impres 
sively.  "  But,  mark  my  words,  our  children  will." 

Miss  Billy  listened  to  this  statement  with  the 
deepest  interest. 

"  Well,  Maud  Muriel — Miss  Billy,  yourself,  and 
myself  as  parents — that  certainly  is  a  new  idea !" 
Dolly  replied. 

Ruth  came  in.  At  the  same  moment  Maud  Mu 
riel  turned  to  go ;  and,  unconsciously,  Billy  made  a 
motion  as  if  about  to  follow. 

"  Wilhelmina,  you  are  to  stay"  said  Maud,  stern 
ly,  as  she  departed,  straighter  than  ever. 

"  Yes,  Miss  Billy,  please  stay,"  said  Ruth.  "  I 
want  you  to  go  with  me  to  see  Genevieve." 

"  Genevieve  ?"  repeated  Dolly,  surprised. 


"  Yes.  She  has  bought  another  new  dress  for  me, 
and  this  time  she  is  going  to  fit  it  herself,  she  says, 
so  that  there  may  be  no  more  bagging,"  answered 
Ruth,  laughing.  "  I  know  she  intends  to  squeeze  me 
up.  And  so  I  want  Miss  Billy  to  come  and  say  it's 
dangerous !" 

Ruth  was  naturally  what  is  called  short-waisted  ; 
this  gave  her  the  long  step  which  in  a  tall,  slender 
woman  is  so  enchantingly  graceful.  Genevieve  did 
not  appreciate  grace  of  this  sort.  In  her  opinion 
Ruth's  waist  was  too  large.  If  she  had  been  told 
that  it  was  the  waist  of  Greek  sculpture,  the  state 
ment  would  not  have  altered  her  criticism;  she  had 
no  admiration  for  Greek  sculpture  ;  the  few  life-sized 
casts  from  antique  statues  which  she  had  seen  had 
appeared  to  her  highly  unpleasant  objects.  Her 
ideas  of  feminine  shape  were  derived,  in  fact,  from 
the  season's  fashion  plates.  Her  own  costumes  were 
always  of  one  unbroken  tint,  the  same  from  head  to 
foot.  To  men's  eyes,  therefore,  her  attire  had  an  air 
of  great  simplicity.  Women  perceived  at  once  that 
this  unvarying  effect  was  not  obtained  without  much 
thought,  and  Genevieve  herself  would  have  been  the 
last  to  disclaim  such  attention.  For  she  believed 
that  it  was  each  woman's  duty  to  dress  as  becoming 
ly  as  was  possible,  because  it  increased  her  attrac 
tion  ;  and  the  greater  her  attraction,  the  greater  her 
influence.  If  she  had  been  asked,  "  influence  for 
what?"  she  would  have  replied  unhesitatingly,  "in 
fluence  for  good !"  Her  view  of  dress,  therefore, 


being  a  serious  one,  she  was  disturbed  by  the  entire 
indifference  of  her  husband's  family  to  the  subject, 
both  generally  and  in  detail.  She  had  the  most  sin 
cere  desire  to  assist  them,  to  improve  them  ;  most  of 
all  she  longed  to  improve  Ruth  (she  had  given  up 
Dolly),  and  more  than  once  she  had  denied  herself 
something,  and  taken  the  money  it  would  have  cost, 
to  buy  a  new  costume  for  the  heedless  girl,  who  gen 
erally  ruined  the  gifts  (in  her  sister-in-law's  opinion) 
by  careless  directions,  or  no  directions  at  all,  to  the 
Asheville  dressmaker. 

Ruth  bore  Miss  Billy  away.  But  as  they  crossed 
the  garden  towards  the  cottage  she  said  :  "  I  may  as 
well  tell  you — there  will  be  no  fitting.  For  Mr. 
Chase  is  there ;  I  have  just  caught  a  glimpse  of  him. 
from  the  upper  window." 

"  Then  why  go  now  ?"  inquired  Miss  Billy,  who  at 
heart  was  much  afraid  of  Genevieve. 

"  To  see  Mr.  Chase,  of  course.  I  wish  to  thank 
him  for  my  philopena,  which  came  late  last  night. 
Mother  and  Dolly  are  not  pleased.  But  /  am,  ever 
so  much."  She  took  a  morocco  case  from  her 
pocket,  and,  opening  it,  disclosed  a  ring  of  very  deli 
cate  workmanship,  the  gold  circlet  hardly  more  than 
a  thread,  and  enclosing  a  diamond,  not  large,  but 
very  pure  and  bright. 

"  Oh-ooh !"  said  Miss  Billy,  with  deep  admiration. 

"  Yes  ;  isn't  it  lovely  ?  Mother  arid  Dolly  say  that 
it  is  too  much.  But  I  have  never  seen  anything  in 
the  world  yet  which  I  thought  too  much  !  I  should 


74 


like  to  have  ever  so  many  rings,  each  set  with  one 
gem  only,  but  that  gem  perfect.  And  I  should  like 
to  have  twenty  or  thirty  bracelets,  all  of  odd  pat 
terns,  to  wear  on  my  arms  above  the  elbow.  And  I 
should  like  close  rows  of  jewels  to  wear  round  my 
throat.  And  clasps  of  jewels  for  the  belt ;  and  shoe- 
buckles  too.  I  have  never  had  an  ornament,  except 
one  dreadful  silver  thing.  Let  me  see  ;  it's  on  now  !" 
And  feeling  under  her  sleeve,  she  drew  off  a  thin 
silver  circlet,  and  threw  it  as  far  as  she  could  across 
the  grass. 

"  Oh,  your  pretty  bracelet !"  exclaimed  Miss  Billy. 

"  Pretty  ?     Horrid  !" 

Horace  Chase  had  called  at  the  Cottage  in  answer 
to  a  note  from  Genevieve,  offering  to  take  him  to 
the  Colored  Home.  "  As  you  have  shown  so  much 
kindly  interest  in  the  Mission,  I  feel  sure  that  this 
second  good  work  of  ours  will  also  please  you,"  she 
wrote. 

"  I  think  I  won't  go  to-day,  Gen,  if  it's  all  the 
same  to  you,"  said  Chase,  when  he  entered.  "  For 
my  horses  have  come  and  I  ought  not  to  delay  any 
longer  about  making  some  arrangements  for  them." 

"  Any  other  time  will  do  for  the  Home,"  answered 
Genevieve,  graciously.  "  But  can't  you  stay  for  a 
little  while,  Horace  ?  Let  me  show  you  my  house." 

Chase  had  already  seen  her  parlor,  with  its  velvet 
carpet,  its  set  of  furniture  covered  with  green,  its  pict 
ures  arranged  according  to  the  size  of  the  frames, 
with  the  largest  below  on  a  line  with  the  eye,  and 


75 


the  others  above  in  pyramidical  gradations,  so  that 
the  smallest  were  near  the  cornice.  At  that  distance 
the  subjects  of  the  smaller  pictures  were  more  or  less 
indistinguishable  ;  but  at  least  the  arrangement  of  the 
frames  was  full  of  symmetry.  In  the  second  story, 
at  the  end  of  the  house,  was  "Jay's  smoking-room." 
"Jay  likes  to  smoke  ;  it  is  a  habit  he  acquired  in  the 
navy  ;  I  have  therefore  fitted  up  this  room  on  pur 
pose,"  said  Jay's  wife. 

It  was  a  small  chamber,  with  a  sloping  ceiling,  a 
single  window  overlooking  the  kitchen  roof,  oil-cloth 
on  the  floor,  one  table,  and  one  chair. 

"  Do  put  in  two  chairs,"'  suggested  Chase,  jocular 
ly.  For  though  he  thought  the  husband  of  Gene- 
vieve  a  fortunate  man,  he  could  not  say  that  his 
smoking-room  was  a  cheerful  place. 

"  Oh,  /  never  sit  here,"  answered  Genevieve. 
"  Now  come  down  and  take  a  peep  at  my  kitchen, 
Horace.  I  have  been  kneading  the  bread ;  there  it 
is  on  the  table.  I  prefer  to  knead  it  myself,  though 
I  hope  that  in  time  Susannah  will  be  able  to  do  it 
according  to  my  method "  (with  a  glance  towards 
the  negro  servant,  who  returned  no  answering  smile). 
"  And  this  is  my  garden.  I  can  never  tell  you  how 
glad  I  am  that  we  have  at  last  a  fixed  home  of  our 
own,  Home.  No  more  wandering  about !  Jay  is 
able  to  spend  a  large  part  of  his  summers  here,  and, 
later,  when  he  has  made  a  little  more  money,  he  will 
come  for  the  whole  summer — four  months.  And  I 
go  to  Raleigh  to  be  with  him  in  the  winter ;  I  am 


hoping  that  we  can  Lave  a  winter  home  there  too, 
very  soon.  We  are  so  much  more  comfortable  in 
every  way  than  we  used  to  be.  And  looking  at  it 
from  another  point  of  view,  it  is  inexpressibly  better 
for  Jay  himself  to  be  out  of  the  navy.  It  always 
disturbed  me — such  a  limited  life  !" 

Jared  Franklin,  when  an  ensign,  had  met  Gene- 
vieve  Gray,  fallen  in  love  with  her,  and  married  her, 
in  the  short  space  of  three  months.  He  had  re 
mained  in  the  navy  throughout  the  war,  and  for  two 
years  longer ;  then,  yielding  at  last  to  his  wife's  ur 
gent  entreaties,  he  had  resigned.  After  his  resigna 
tion  he  had  been  for  a  time  a  clerk  in  Atlanta.  Now 
he  was  in  business  for  himself  in  a  small  way  at  Ra 
leigh  ;  it  was  upon  his  establishment  there  that  Gen- 
evieve  had  started  this  summer  home  in  Asheville. 
"  Our  prospects  are  much  brighter,"  she  went  on, 
cheerfully;  "for  at  present  we  have  a  future.  No 
one  has  a  future  in  the  navy ;  no  one  can  make 
money  there.  But  now  there  is  no  reason  why  Jay 
should  not  succeed,  as  other  men  have  succeeded ; 
that  is  what  I  always  tell  him.  And  I  am  not  think 
ing  only  of  ourselves,  Horrie,  as  I  say  that ;  when 
Jay  is  a  rich  man,  my  principal  pleasure  in  it  will  be 
the  power  which  we  shall  have  to  give  more  in  char 
ity,  to  do  more  in  all  good  works."  And  in  saying 
this,  Genevieve  Franklin  was  entirely  sincere. 

"  You  must  keep  me  posted  about  the  railroad," 
she  went  on,  as  she  led  the  way  across  the  garden. 

"  Oh  yes ;   if  we  decide  to  take  hold  of  it,  you 


77 


shall  be  admitted  into  the  ring,"  answered  Chase — 
"  the  inside  track." 

"  I  could  buy  land  here  beforehand — quietly,  you 
know?" 

"  You've  got  a  capital  head  for  business,  haven't 
you,  Gen  !  Better  than  any  one  has  at  your  mother- 
in-law's,  I  reckon  ?" 

"  They  are  not  clever  in  that  way ;  I  have  always 
regretted  it.  But  they  are  very  amiable." 

"  Not  that  Dolly  !" 

u  Oh,  Dolly  ?  My  principal  feeling  for  poor  Dolly, 
of  course,  is  simply  pity.  This  is  my  little  dairy, 
Horrie  ;  come  in.  I  have  been  churning  butter  this 
morning." 

Ruth  and  Miss  Billy,  finding  no  one  in  the  house, 
had  followed  to  the  dairy  ;  and  they  entered  in  time 
to  hear  this  last  phrase. 

"  She  does  churning  and  everything  else,  Mr. 
Chase,  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,"  said  Ruth, 
with  great  seriousness. 

"  Not  quite  so  early,"  Genevieve  corrected. 

The  point  was  not  taken  up.  The  younger  Mrs. 
Franklin,  a  fresh,  strong,  equable  creature,  who  woke 
at  dawn  as  a  child  wakes,  liked  an  early  breakfast  as 
a  child  likes  it.  She  found  it  difficult,  therefore,  to 
understand  her  mother-in-law's  hour  of  nine,  or  half- 
past  nine.  "  But  you  lose  so  much  time,  mamma," 
she  had  remarked  during  the  first  weeks  of  her  own 
residence  at  Asheville. 

"  Yes,"  Dolly  answered.      (It  was  always  Dolly 


78 


who  answered  Genevieve  ;  Dolly  delighted  in  it.) 
"  We  do  lose  it  at  that  end  of  the  morning — the  raw 
end,  Genevieve.  But  when  we  are  once  up,  we  re 
main  up,  available,  fully  awake,  get-at-able,  until  mid 
night  ;  we  do  not  go  off  and  seclude  ourselves  im- 
pregnably  for  two  hours  or  so  in  the  middle  of  the 
day."  For  Dolly  was  aware  that  it  was  her  sister-in- 
law's  habit  to  retire  to  her  room  immediately  after  her 
one  o'clock  dinner,  and  take  a  nap ;  often  a  long  one. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  see  something  pretty,  Gene 
vieve  ?"  said  Ruth,  giving  her  the  morocco  case. 
"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Chase ;  I  have  wanted  a  ring  so 
long ;  you  can't  think  how  long !" 

"  Have  you  ?"  said  Chase,  smiling. 

"  Yes.     And  this  is  such  a  beauty." 

"  Well,  to  me  it  seemed  rather  small.  I  wrote  to 
a  friend  of  mine  to  get  it ;  it  was  my  partner,  in  fact, 
Mr.  Willoughby.  I  told  him  that  it  was  for  a  young 
lady.  That's  his  taste,  I  suppose," 

"  The  taste  is  perfect,"  said  Miss  Billy.  For  poor 
Miss  Billy,  browbeaten  though  she  was  by  almost 
everybody,  possessed  a  very  delicate  and  true  per 
ception  in  all  such  matters. 

"  I  have  been  perfectly  happy  ever  since  it  came," 
Ruth  declared,  as  she  took  the  ring,  slipped  it  on 
her  finger,  and  looked  at  the  effect. 

"  You  make  me  proud,  Miss  Ruth." 

"  Don't  you  want  to  be  a  little  prouder  ?"  and  she 
came  up  to  him  coaxingly.  "  I  am  sure  Genevieve 
has  been  asking  you  to  go  with  her  to  the  Colored 


Home  ?"  This  quick  guess  made  Chase  laugh.  "  For 
it  is  the  weekly  reception  day,  and  all  her  old  women 
have  on  their  clean  turbans.  The  Colored  Home  is 
excellent,  of  course,  but  it  won't  fly  away ;  there'll 
be  more  clean  turbans  next  week.  Meanwhile,  / 
have  something  very  pressing.  I  have  long  wanted 
Miss  Mackintosh  to  make  a  bust  of  Petie  Trone,  Esq. 
And  she  won't,  because  she  thinks  it  is  frivolous. 
But  if  you  will  go  with  me,  Mr.  Chase,  and  speak  of 
it  as  a  fine  thing  to  do,  she  will  be  impressed,  I 
know ;  for  she  has  a  sort  of  concealed  liking  for 
you."  Chase  made  a  grimace.  "  I  don't  mean  any 
thing  fiery,"  Ruth  went  on ;  "  it's  only  a  reasonable 
scientific  interest.  She  is  at  the  barn  now :  won't 
you  come?  For  Petie  Trone,  Esq.,  is  not  a  young 
dog  any  longer.  He  is  more  than  eight  years  old," 
concluded  the  girl,  mournfully. 

Genevieve,  who  had  been  greatly  struck  by  the 
ring,  glanced  at  Chase  with  inward  despair,  as  her 
sister-in-law  made  this  ineffective  conclusion.  They 
had  left  the  dairy,  and  were  standing  in  the  garden, 
and  her  despair  renewed  itself  as,  in  the  brighter 
light,  she  noted  Ruth's  faded  dress,  and  the  battered 
garden  hat,  whose  half-detached  feather  had  been 
temporarily  secured  with  a  large  white  pin. 

But  Chase  was  not  looking  at  the  hat.  "  Of  course 
I'll  go,"  he  answered.  "  We'll  have  the  little  scamp 
in  bronze,  if  you  like.  Don't  worry  about  his  age, 
Miss  Ruth ;  he  is  so  tremendously  lively  that  he  will 
see  us  all  out  yet." 


80 


"  Come,  then,"  said  Ruth,  exultingly.  She  linked 
her  arm  in  Miss  Billy's.  "  You  must  go,  too,  Miss 
Billy,  so  that  you  can  tell  mother  that  I  did  not  tease 
Mr.  Chase  too  hard." 

Maud  Muriel's  studio  was  in  an  unused  hay-barn. 
Here,  ranged  on  rough  shelves,  were  her  "  works," 
as  Miss  Billy  called  them  —  many  studies  of  arms, 
and  hands,  and  a  dozen  finished  portrait -busts  in 
clay.  The  subjects  of  the  busts  appeared  to  have 
been  selected,  one  and  all,  for  their  strictly  common 
place  aspect ;  they  had  not  even  the  distinction  of 
ugliness.  There  were  three  old  men  with  ordinary 
features,  and  no  marked  expression  of  any  kind ; 
there  were  six  middle-aged  women,  each  with  the 
type  of  face  which  one  forgets  the  moment  after  see 
ing  it ;  and  there  were  three  uncompromisingly  un 
interesting  little  boys.  The  modelling  was  consci 
entious,  and  it  was  evident  in  each  case  that  the 
likeness  was  faithful. 

"But  Petie  Trone,  Esq.,  is  &  pretty  dog,"  objected 
the  sculptress,  when  Ruth  had  made  her  request, 
backed  up  by  Chase,  who  described  the  "  dogs  and 
animals  of  all  sorts"  which  he  had  seen  in  bronze 
and  marble  in  the  galleries  abroad.  No  one  laughed, 
as  the  formal  title  came  out  from  Maud's  lips,  Ashe- 
ville  had  long  ago  accepted  the  name ;  Petie  Trone, 
Esq.,  was  as  well  known  as  Mount  Pisgah. 

"  Don't  you  like  pretty  things  ?"  Chase  asked, 
gazing  at  the  busts,  and  then  at  the  studies  of  arms 
and  hands — scraggy  arms  with  sharp  elbows  and  thin 


81 


fingers,  withered  old  arms  with  clawlike  phalanges, 
lean  arms  of  growing  boys  with  hands  like  paws, 
hard -worked  arms  with  distorted  muscles  —  every 
and  any  human  arm  and  hand  save  a  beautiful 
one. 

"Prettiness  is  the  exception,  not  the  rule,"  replied 
Maud,  with  decision.  "  I  prefer  to  model  the  usual, 
the  average ;  for  in  that  direction,  and  in  that  only, 
lies  truth." 

"  Yes ;  and  I  suppose  that  if  1  should  make  a 
usual  cur  of  Petie  Trone,  Esq.,  cover  him  with  aver 
age  mud,  and  beat  him  so  that  he  would  cower  and 
slink  in  his  poor  little  tail,  then  you  would  do  him  2" 
said  Ruth,  indignantly. 

"  See  here,  Miss  Mackintosh,  your  principles 
needn't  be  upset  by  one  small  dog.  Come,  do  him  ; 
not  his  bust,  but  the  whole  of  him.  A  life-sized 
statue,"  added  Chase,  laughing ;  "  he  must  be  about 
eleven  inches  long !  Do  him  for  me,"  he  went  on, 
boldly,  looking  at  her  with  secret  amusement ;  for 
lie  had  never  seen  such  an  oaken  bearing  as  that  of 
this  Asheville  spinster. 

Maud  Muriel  did  not  relax  the  tension  of  her  mus 
cles  ;  in  fact,  she  could  not.  The  condition  called 
u  clinched,"  which  with  most  persons  is  occasional 
only,  had  with  her  become  chronic.  Nevertheless, 
somehow,  she  consented. 

"  I'll  get  the  darling  this  minute,"  cried  Ruth,  hur 
rying  out.  And  Chase  followed  her. 

"  Well,  here  you   are  again  !      What  did  I  tell 


you?"  said  the  sculptress  to  Miss  Billy,  when  they 
were  left  alone. 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  come,  Maud  Muriel.  I  really 
did  not  intend — "  Billy  began. 

"  What  place,  Wilhelmina,  is  paved  with  good  in 
tentions  ?  Now,  of  course,  we  shall  be  going  home 
with  each  other  all  the  rest  of  the  day  !"  declared 
the  sculptress,  good-humoredly. 

Meanwhile,  outside,  Ruth  was  suggesting  to  Hor 
ace  Chase,  coaxingly,  that  he  should  wait  until  she 
could  find  her  dog,  and  bring  him  to  the  barn.  "  Be 
cause  if  you  are  not  with  me,  Maud  Muriel  will  be 
sure  to  change  her  mind !" 

"  Not  she.  She  is  no  more  changeable  than  a  tele 
graph  pole.  I  am  afraid  I  must  leave  you  now,  Miss 
Ruth ;  for  the  men  are  waiting  to  see  me  about  the 
horses." 

"  Whose  horses  ?" 

"  Mine." 

"  Did  you  send  for  them  ?  Oh,  /  love  horses  too. 
Where  are  they  ?" 

"At  the  Old  North  stables.  So  you  like  horses? 
I'll  drive  the  pair  round,  then,  in  a  day  or  two,  to 
show  them  to  you."  And  after  shaking  hands  with 
her — Chase  always  shook  hands — he  went  towards 
the  village ;  for  Maud  Muriel's  barn  was  on  the  out 
skirts.  In  figure  he  was  tall,  thin,  and  muscular. 
He  never  appeared  to  be  in  haste  ;  all  his  movements 
were  leisurely,  even  his  words  coming  out  with  de 
liberation.  His  voice  was  pitched  in  a  low  key  ;  his 


articulation  was  extremely  distinct ;  sometimes,  when 
amused,  he  had  a  slight  humorous  drawl. 

Ruth  looked  after  him  for  a  moment.  Then  she 
went  in  search  of  her  dog. 

A  little  later  Anthony  Etheridge  paid  his  usual 
morning  visit  to  the  post-office.  On  his  return,  when 
near  his  own  abode,  he  met  Horace  Chase. 

"A  mail  in?"  inquired  Chase,  quickly,  as  he  saw 
the  letters. 

"  No ;  they  came  last  night.  /  am  never  in  a 
hurry  about  mails,"  answered  Etheridge.  "  You 
younger  fellows  have  not  learned,  as  I  have,  that 
among  every  six  letters,  say,  four  at  least  are  sure  to 
be  more  or  less  disagreeable.  Well,  have  you  de 
cided  ?  Are  you  coming  to  my  place  ?"  For  Eth 
eridge  had  rooms  in  a  private  house,  where  he  paid 
for  a  whole  wing  in  order  that  his  night's  rest  should 
not  be  disturbed  by  other  tenants,  who  might  per 
haps  bring  in  young  children  ;  with  his  usual  thrifti- 
ness,  he  had  offered  his  lower  floor  to  Chase. 

"  Well,  no,  I  guess  not ;  I'm  thinking  of  coming 
here,"  Chase  answered,  indicating  the  hotel  near  by 
with  a  backward  turn  of  his  thumb.  "  My  horses 
are  here ;  they  came  last  night.  I'm  making  some 
arrangements  for  them,  now." 

Anthony  Etheridge  cared  more  for  a  good  horse 
than  for  anything  else  in  the  world.  In  spite  of  his 
title  of  Commodore,  sailing  had  only  a  second  place 
in  his  list  of  tastes.  He  had  commanded  a  holiday 
squadron  only,  a  fleet  of  yachts.  Some  years  before, 


84 


he  had  resigned  his  commandership  in  the  Northern 
club.  But  he  was  still  a  commodore,  almost  in  spite 
of  himself,  for  he  had  again  been  elected,  this  time 
by  the  winter  yacht  club  of  St.  Augustine.  At  the 
word  "  horses  "  his  face  had  lighted  up.  "  Can  I 
have  a  look  at  them  ?"  he  said,  eagerly.  "  Did  they 
stand  the  journey  well?" 

"  0.  K.  They're  round  in  the  stable,  if  you  want 
to  come." 

The  three  horses  were  beautiful  specimens  of  their 
kind.  "  The  pair,  I  intend  to  drive ;  I  found  that 
there  was  nothing  in  Asheville,  and  as  I'm  going  to 
stay  awhile  longer  (for  the  air  is  bringing  me  right 
up),  I  had  to  have  something,"  Chase  remarked. 
"The  mare  is  for  riding." 

O 

"  She  looks  like  a  racer  ?" 

"  Well,  she  has  taken  one  prize.  But  I  shall  never 
race  her  again ;  I  don't  care  about  it.  I  remember 
when  I  thought  a  race  just  heaven  !  When  I  wasn't 
more  than  nineteen,  I  took  a  prize  with  a  trotter  ; 
'twas  a  very  small  race,  to  be  sure ;  but  a  big  thing 
to  me.  Not  long  after  that,  there  was  another  prize 
offered  for  a  well-matched  pair,  and  by  that  time  I 
had  a  pair — temporarily — bays.  One  of  them,  how 
ever,  had  a  white  spot  on  his  nose.  Well,  sir,  I 
painted  his  nose,  and  won  the  premium  !"  He  broke 
into  a  laugh. 

"Was  that  before  you  invented  the  Bubble  Baking- 
powder  ?"  inquired  Etheridge. 

In  this  question,  there  was  a  tinge  of  supercilious- 


85 


ness.  Chase  did  not  suspect  it ;  in  his  estimation, 
a  baking-powder  was  as  good  a  means  as  anything 
else,  the  sole  important  point  being  its  success.  But 
even  if  he  had  perceived  the  tinge,  it  would  only  have 
amused  him  ;  with  his  far  -  stretching  plans — plans 
which  extended  across  a  continent — his  large  interests 
and  broad  ambitions,  criticism  from  this  obscure  old 
man  would  have  seemed  comical.  Anthony  Eth- 
eridge  was  not  so  obscure  a  personage  as  Chase  fan 
cied.  But  he  was  not  known  in  the  world  of  busi 
ness  or  of  speculation,  and  he  had  very  little  money. 
This  last  fact  Chase  had  immediately  divined.  For 
he  recognized  in  Etheridge  a  man  who  would  never 
have  denied  himself  luxury  unless  forced  to  do  it,  a 
man  who  would  never  have  been  at  Asheville  if  he 
could  have  afforded  Newport ;  the  talk  about  "  nature 
undraped  "  was  simply  an  excuse.  And  he  had  dis 
covered  also  another  secret  which  no  one  (save 
Mrs.  Franklin)  suspected,  namely,  that  the  handsome 
commodore  was  in  reality  far  older  than  his  gallant 
bearing  would  seem  to  indicate. 

"/  didn't  invent  the  Bubble,"  he  had  said,  ex 
planatorily.  "  I  only  bought  it.  Then  the  inventor 
and  I  ran  it  together,  in  a  sort  of  partnership,  as 
long  as  he  lived.  'Twas  as  good  as  a  silver  mine  for  a 
while.  Nothing  could  stand  against  it,  sir — nothing." 

But  Etheridge  was  not  interested  in  the  Bubble. 
"  I  should  like  greatly  to  see  your  mare  go,"  he  said. 
"  Here,  boy,  isn't  that  track  in  the  field  in  pretty  fair 
condition  still  ?" 


86 


"  Yes,  boss,"  answered  the  negro,  whom  he  had  ad 
dressed. 

"  Why  not  let  her  go  round  it,  Chase  ?  It  will  do 
her  good  to  stretch  her  legs  this  fine  morning." 

Here  a  shadow  in  the  doorway  caused  them  both 
to  turn  their  heads.  It  was  Ruth  Franklin. 

"  Good  heavens,  Ruth,  what  are  you  doing  here 
in  the  stables  ?"  asked  Etheridge,  astonished. 

"I  have  come  to  see  the  horses,"  replied  Ruth, 
confidently.  She  addressed  Chase.  She  had  already 
learned  that  she  could  count  upon  indulgence  from 
him,  no  matter  what  fancies  might  seize  her. 

"  Here  they  are,  then,"  Chase  answered.  "  Come 
closer.  This  is  Peter,  and  that  is  Piper.  And  here 
is  the  mare,  Kentucky  Belle.  Your  friend,  the  com 
modore,  was  urging  me,  as  you  came  in,  to  send 
Kentucky  round  a  race-course  you  have  here  some 
where." 

"  Yes,  1  know ;  the  old  ring,"  said  Ruth.  "  Oh, 
please  do  !  Please  have  a  real  race." 

"But  there's  nothing  to  run  against  her,  Miss 
Ruth.  The  pair  are  not  racers." 

"  You  go  to  Cyrus  Jaycox,"  said  Etheridge  to  the 
negro,  "  and  ask  him  for — for  "  (he  could  not  remem 
ber  the  name) — "  for  the  colt,"  he  concluded,  in  an 
enraged  voice. 

"  Fer  Tipkinoo,  sah  ?     Yassah." 

"  Tell  him  to  come  himself." 

"  Yassah."     The  negro  started  off  on  a  run. 

"  It's  the  landlord   of  the  Old  North,"  Etheridge 


explained.  "  He  has  a  promising  colt,  Tippecanoe" 
(lie  brought  it  out  this  time  sonorously).  "  No 
match,  of  course,  for  your  mare,  Chase.  Still,  it 
will  make  a  little  sport."  His  color  had  risen ;  his 
face  was  young  with  anticipation.  "  Now,  Ruth,  go 
home  ;  you  have  seen  the  horses,  and  that  is  enough. 
Your  mother  would  be  much  displeased  if  she  knew 
you  were  here." 

For  answer,  Ruth  looked  at  Chase.  "  I  won't  be 
the  least  trouble,"  she  said,  winningly. 

"  Oh,  do  be  !  I  like  trouble  —  feel  all  the  better 
for  lots  of  it,"  he  answered.  "  Come  along  with  inc. 
And  make  all  the  trouble  you  can  !" 

Three  little  negro  boys,  highly  excited,  had  already 
started  off  to  act  as  pilots  to  the  field.  Ruth  put  her 
hand  in  Chase's  arm  ;  for  if  the  owner  of  Kentucky 
Belle  wished  to  have  her  with  him,  or  at  least  if  he 
had  the  appearance  of  wishing  it,  there  was  less  to 
be  said  against  her  presence.  They  led  the  way, 
therefore.  Then  came  Chase's  man  with  the  mare, 
Etheridge  keeping  close  to  the  beautiful  beast,  and 
watching  her  gait  with  critical  eyes.  All  the  hang 
ers-on  of  the  stable  brought  up  the  rear.  The  field, 
where  an  amateur  race  had  been  held  during:  the 

& 

preceding  year,  was  not  far  distant ;  its  course  was 
a  small  one.  Some  minutes  later  their  group  was 
completed  by  the  arrival  of  Cyrus  Jaycox  with  his 
colt,  Tippecanoe. 

"But  where  is  Groves?"  said  Chase  to  his  men. 
"  Groves  is  the  only  one  of  you  who  can  ride  her 


88 


properly."  It  turned  out,  however,  that  Groves  had 
gone  to  bed  ill ;  he  had  taken  a  chill  on  the  journey. 

"  I  didn't  observe  that  he  wasn't  here,"  said  Chase. 
(This  was  because  he  had  been  talking  to  Euth.) 
"  We  shall  have  to  postpone  it,  commodore." 

"  Let  her  go  round  with  one  of  the  other  men  just 
once,  to  show  her  action,"  Etheridge  urged. 

"  Yes,  please,  please,"  said  Ruth. 

The  mare,  therefore,  went  round  the  course  with 
the  groom  Oartright,  followed  by  the  Asheville  colt, 
ridden  by  a  little  negro  boy,  who  clung  on  with  grins 
and  goggling  eyes. 

"  There  is  Mr.  Hill,  watching  us  over  the  fence," 
said  Ruth.  "How  astonished  he  looks!"  And  she 
beckoned  to  the  distant  figure. 

O 

Malachi  Hill,  who  had  been  up  the  mountain  to 
pay  a  visit  to  a  family  in  bereavement,  had  recog 
nized  them,  and  stopped  his  horse  in  the  road  to  see 
what  was  going  on.  In  response  to  Ruth's  invita 
tion,  he  found  a  gate,  opened  it  by  leaning  from  his 
saddle,  and  came  across  to  join  them.  As  he  rode 
up,  Etheridge  was  urging  another  round.  "  If  I  were 
not  such  a  heavy  weight,  I'd  ride  the  mare  myself  !" 
he  declared,  with  enthusiasm.  Cyrus  Jay  cox  offered 
a  second  little  negro,  as  jockey.  But  Chase  pre 
ferred  to  trust  Cartright,  unfitted  though  he  was. 
In  reality  he  consented  not  on  account  of  the 
urgency  of  Etheridge,  but  solely  to  please  the  girl  by 
his  side. 

There   was  trouble  about  this   second  start ;    the 


80 


colt,  not  having  been  trained,  boggled  and  balked. 
Kentucky  Belle,  on  her  side,  could  not  comprehend 
such  awkwardness.  "  I'll  go  a  few  paces  with  them, 
just  to  get  them  well  off,"  suggested  Malachi  Hill. 
And,  touching  Daniel  with  his  whip,  he  rode  for 
ward,  coming  up  behind  the  other  two. 

Mr.  Hill's  Daniel  was  the  laughing  -  stock  of  the 
irreverent ;  he  was  a  very  tall,  ancient  horse,  lean 
and  rawboned,  with  a  rat  tail.  But  he  must  have 
had  a  spark  of  youthful  fire  left  in  him  somewhere, 
or  else  a  long-thwarted  ambition,  for  he  made  more 
than  the  start  which  his  rider  had  intended ;  break 
ing  into  a  pounding  pace,  he  went  round  the  entire 
course,  in  spite  of  the  clergyman's  efforts  to  pull  him 
up.  The  mare,  hearing  the  thundering  sound  of  his 
advance  behind  her,  began  to  go  faster.  Old  Daniel 
passed  the  Asheville  colt  as  though  he  were  nothing 
at  all ;  then,  stretching  out  his  gaunt  head,  he  went 
in  pursuit  of  the  steed  in  front  like  a  mad  creature, 
the  dust  of  the  ring  rising  in  clouds  behind  him. 
Nothing  could  now  stop  either  horse.  Cartright 
was  powerless  with  Kentucky  Belle,  and  Daniel 
paid  no  heed  to  his  rider.  But,  the  second  time 
round,  it  was  not  quite  clear  whether  the  clergyman 
was  trying  to  stop  or  not.  The  third  time  there 
was  no  question — he  would  not  have  stopped  for  the 
world ;  his  flushed  face  showed  the  deepest  delight. 

Meanwhile  people  had  collected  as  flies  collect 
round  honey ;  the  negroes  who  lived  in  the  shan 
ties  behind  the  Old  North  had  come  running  to  the 


90 


scene  in  a  body,  the  big  children  "  toting  "  the  little 
ones;  and  down  the  lane  which  led  from  the  main 
street  had  rushed  all  the  whites  within  call,  led  by 
the  postmaster  himself,  a  veteran  of  the  Mexican 
War.  After  the  fourth  round,  Kentucky  Belle  de 
cided  to  stop  of  her  own  accord.  She  was,  of  course, 
ahead.  But  not  very  far  behind  her,  still  thunder 
ing  along  with  his  rat  tail  held  stiffly  out,  came  old 
Daniel,  in  his  turn  ahead  of  Tippecanoe. 

As  Daniel  drew  near,  exhausted  but  still  ardent, 
there  rose  loud  laughter  and  cheers.  "Good  gra 
cious!"  murmured  the  missionary,  as  he  quickly  dis 
mounted,  pulled  his  hat  straight,  and  involuntarily 
tried  to  hide  himself  between  Etheridge  and  Chase. 
"  What  have  I  done  !" 

His  perturbation  was  genuine.  "  Come  along," 
said  Chase,  who  had  been  laughing  uproariously  him 
self  ;  "  we'll  protect  you."  He  gave  his  arm  to  Mr. 
Hill,  and  with  Ruth  (who  still  kept  her  hold  tightly) 
on  his  left,  he  made  with  his  two  companions  a  state 
ly  progress  back  to  the  hotel,  followed  by  the  mare 
led  by  Cartright,  with  Etheridge  as  body-guard; 
then  by  Cyrus  Jaycox,  with  Tippecanoe  ;  and  finally 
by  all  the  spectators,  who  now  numbered  nearly  a 
hundred.  But  at  the  head  of  the  whole  file  (Chase 
insisted  upon  this)  marched  old  Daniel,  led  by  the 
other  groom. 

"  Go  round  to  the  front,"  called  Chase.  And  round 
they  all  went  to  the  main  street,  amid  the  hurrahs  of 
the  accompanying  crowd,  white  and  black.  At  the 


91 


door  of  the  Old  North,  Ruth  escaped  and  took  refuge 
within,  accompanied  by  the  troubled  clergyman;  and 
a  moment  later  Chase  and  Etheridge  followed.  Ruth 
had  led  the  way  to  Miss  Billy's  sitting-room.  Miss 
Billy  received  her  guests  with  wonder ;  Maud  Mu 
riel  was  with  her  (for  her  prophecy  had  come  true ; 
the  two  had  already  begun  the  "  going  home  "  with 
each  other). 

"  We  have  had  the  most  exciting  race,  Miss  Billy," 
explained  Rath.  "  A  real  horse-race  round  the  old 
track  out  in  the  field.  And  Mr.  Hill  came  in  second 
on  Daniel !" 

The  eyes  of  Miss  Billy,  turning  to  the  clergyman 
with  horror,  moved  Chase  to  fresh  laughter.  "  I  say 
— why  not  all  stay  and  dine  with  me  V  he  suggested. 
"  To  celebrate  Daniel's  triumph,  you  know  ?  I  am 
coming  here  to  stay,  so  I  might  as  well  begin.  The 
dinner  hour  is  two  o'clock,  and  it  is  almost  that  now. 
We  can  have  a  table  to  ourselves,  and  perhaps  they 
can  find  us  some  champagne." 

"  That  will  be  great  fun ;  Pll  stay,"  said  Ruth. 
"  And  the  commodore  Will,  I'm  sure.  Mr.  Hill, 


"  Thanks,  no.  I  must  go.  Good-day,"  said  the 
missionary,  hastening  out. 

Chase  pursued  him.  "  Why,  you  are  the  hero  of 
the  whole  thing,"  he  said ;  "  the  man  of  the  hour ! 
We  can't  bring  old  Daniel  into  the  dining-room.  So 
we  must  have  you,  Hill." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  spoil  it ;  but  you  will  have  to  ex- 


92 


cuse  me,"  answered  the  other  man,  hurriedly.  Then, 
with  an  outburst  of  confidence :  "  It  is  impossible 
for  me  to  remain  where  Miss  Mackintosh  is  present. 
There  is  something  perfectly  awful  to  me,  Mr.  Chase, 
in  that  woman's  eye  !" 

"Is  that  all?  Come  back;  Til  see  to  her,"  re 
sponded  Chase.  And  see  to  her  he  did.  Aided  by 
Etheridge,  who  liked  nothing  better  than  to  assail 
the  sculptress  with  lovelorn  compliments,  Chase  paid 
Maud  Muriel  such  devoted  attention  that  for  the  mo 
ment  she  forgot  poor  Hill,  or  rather  she  left  him  to 
himself.  He  was  able,  therefore,  to  eat  his  dinner. 
But  he  still  said,  mutely,  "Good  gracious!"  and, 
taking  out  his  handkerchief,  he  furtively  wiped  his 
brow. 

The  Old  North  had  provided  for  its  patrons  that 
day  roast  beef,  spring  chickens,  new  potatoes,  and 
apple  puddings.  All  the  diners  at  the  other  tables 
asked  for  "  a  dish  of  gravy."  A  saucer  containing 
gravy  was  then  brought  and  placed  by  the  side  of 
each  plate.  Small  hot  buscuits  were  offered  instead 
of  bread,  and  eaten  with  the  golden  mountain  butter. 
Mrs.  Jaycox,  stimulated  by  the  liberal  order  for  cham 
pagne,  sent  to  Chase's  table  the  additional  splendors 
of  three  kinds  of  fresh  cake,  peach  preserves,  and  a 
glass  jug  of  cream. 


CHAPTER    V 

THE  spring  deepened  into  summer,  and  July 
opened.  On  the  10th,  the  sojourners  at  the  Warm 
Springs,  the  beautiful  pools  that  well  up  in  the  valley 
of  the  French  Broad  River,  were  assembled  on  the 
veranda  of  the  rambling  wooden  hotel,  after  their 
six  o'clock  supper,  when  they  saw  two  carriages 
approaching..  "Phew!  who  can  they  be?"  "What 
horses !" 

The  horses  were  indeed  remarkably  handsome — 
two  bays  and  a  lighter-limbed  pair  of  sorrels ;  in  ad 
dition  there  was  a  mounted  groom.  The  house 
keeper,  who  had  come  out  on  the  veranda,  mention 
ed  in  a  low  tone  that  a  second  groom  had  arrived, 
three  hours  earlier,  to  engage  rooms  for  the  party, 
and  make  preparations.  "  They  are  to  have  supper 
by  themselves,  later ;  we're  to  do  our  best.  Extras 
have  been  ordered,  and  they've  sent  all  sorts  of  sup 
plies.  And  champagne  !" 

"  Chase,  did  you  say  the  name  was  ?  That's  a 
hoax.  It's  General  Grant  himself,  I  reckon,  coming 
along  yere  like  a  conqueror  in  disguise,"  said  a  wag. 

The  bays  were  Horace  Chase's  Peter  and  Piper, 
attached  to  a  two-seated  carriage  which  was  a  model 
as  regarded  comfort ;  Anthony  Etheridge  was  driv- 


94 


ing,  and  with  him  were  Mrs.  Franklin,  Dolly,  and 
Ruth.  Horace' Chase  himself,  in  a  light  vehicle  for 
two,  which  he  called  his  cart,  had  the  sorrels.  His 
companion  was  a  gaunt,  dark  man,  who  looked  as 
though  he  had  been  ill.  This  man  was  Mrs.  Frank 
lin's  son  Jared. 

Franklin  had  been  stricken  by  that  disheartening 
malady  which  is  formed  by  the  union  of  fever  and 
ague.  After  bearing  it  for  several  weeks,  and  send 
ing  no  tidings  of  his  condition  to  his  family  (for  he 
considered  it  a  rather  unmasculine  ailment),  he  had 
journeyed  to  Asheville  with  the  last  remnants  of  his 
strength,  and  arriving  by  stage,  and  finding  no  one 
at  the  cottage  (for  it  was  his  wife's  day  at  the  Col 
ored  Home),  he  had  come  with  uncertain  steps 
across  the  field  to  L'Hommedieu,  entering  the  parlor 
like  a  yellow  spectre,  his  eyes  sunken,  his  mind 
slightly  wandering.  "  Ye-cs,  here  I  am,"  he  said, 
vaguely.  "I  was  coming  next  week,  you  know. 
But  I  —  I  didn't  feel  well.  And  so  I've  —  come 
now." 

His  mother  had  given  a  cry ;  then,  with  an  instinc 
tive  movement,  her  tall  figure  looking  taller  than  ever, 
she  had  rushed  forward  and  clasped  her  dazed,  fever- 
stricken  son  in  her  arms. 

The  mountain  air,  prompt  remedies,  and  the  vig 
ilant  nursing  of  Genevieve,  soon  routed  the  insidious 
foes.  Routed  them,  that  is,  for  the  moment;  for 
their  strength  lies  in  stealthy  returns ;  as  Jared  said 
(he  made  jokes  even  at  the  worst  stages),  they  never 


know  when  they  are  beaten.  But  as'soon  as  there 
was  even  a  truce,  their  victim,  though  still  yellow 
and  weak,  announced  that  he  must  return  to  his  busi 
ness  immediately. 

"But  I  thought  you  spent  your  summers  here, 
Mr.  Franklin  ?"  remarked  Horace  Chase,  inquiringly. 

"  Yes,  that  is  the  plan,  and  I  have  been  here  a 
good  deal  for  the  past  three  seasons.  But  this  year 
I  can't  stay,"  Jared  answered. 

This  was  said  at  L'llommedieu.  Ruth  was  sitting 
beside  her  brother  on  the  sofa,  her  arm  in  his.  "  But 
you  must  stay,"  she  protested.  "  You  are  not  strong 
yet ;  you  are  not  strong  at  all."  She  put  her  other 
arm  across  his  breast,  as  if  to  keep  him.  "  1  shall 
not  let  you  go  !" 

Jared  Franklin  was  tall  and  broad-shouldered,  with 
dark  eyes  whose  expression  was  always  sad.  In  spite 
of  this  sadness,  he  had  Dolly's  habit  of  making  joc 
ular  remarks.  But  he  had  not  Dolly's  sharpness ; 
where  she  was  sarcastic,  the  brother  was  only  ironical. 
In  looks  Jared  did  not  resemble  his  mother  or  Dolly. 
But  there  was  a  strong  likeness  between  his  face  and 
Ruth's;  they  had  the  same  contours,  the  same  mouth. 

While  Ruth  was  protesting,  Mrs.  Franklin,  making 
no  pretence  of  busying  herself  with  anything,  not 
even  with  lamplighters,  sat  looking  at  her  son  with 
eyes  which  seemed  to  have  grown  larger,  owing  to 
the  depth  of  love  within  them.  Chase,  who  had  hap 
pened  to  be  at  L'llommedieu  when  Jared  arrived,  had 
never  forgotten  that  rush  of  the  mother — the  mother 


96 


whose  easy  indolence  lie  Lad,  up  to  tliat  moment, 
condemned.  So  now  lie  said,  witli  Lis  slight  drawl : 
"  Oh,  you  want  to  give  the  fever  another  round  of 
shot  before  you  go  back,  Mr.  Franklin.  Why  not 
take  a  few  days  more,  and  drive  with  me  over  the 
Great  Smokies  into  Tennessee  ?"  And  the  result  was 
the  party  already  described. 

The  evening  before  the  start,  Ruth  had  come  out 
on  the  veranda  of  L'llommedieu.  Chase  and  her 
brother  had  been  smoking  there  (for  Jared  had  not 
shown  any  deep  attachment  to  his  smoking-room), 
and  Dolly,  who  loved  the  aroma  of  cigars,  had  seat 
ed  herself  near  them.  Jared  had  now  strolled  off 
with  his  mother,  and  Genevieve,  coming  over  from 
the  cottage,  had  taken  her  husband's  place.  As  she 
approached,  Chase  had  extinguished  his  cigar  and 
tossed  it  into  the  grass ;  for  tobacco  smoke  always 
gave  the  younger  Mrs.  Franklin  a  headache. 

Ruth  had  walked  up  to  Chase's  chair.  "  No,  please 
don't  rise ;  I  am  only  looking  at  you,  Mr.  Chase. 
You  are  so  wonderful  1" 

"  Now  don't  be  too  hard  on  me  !"  interposed  the 
visitor,  humorously. 

"  First,  you  are  making  my  brother  take  this  long 
drive,"  Ruth  went  on  ;  "  the  very  thing  of  all  others 
that  will  do  him  good — and  I  could  go  down  on  my 
knees  to  you  just  for  that !  Then  you  have  sent  for 
that  easy  carriage,  so  that  Dolly  can  go,  too.  Then 
you  are  taking  me.  The  commodore  also,  who  would 
rather  drive  Peter  and  Piper  than  go  to  heaven !  I 


'J7 


have  always  wanted  to  see  somebody  who  could  do 
everything.  It  must  be  very  nice  to  have  money," 
she  concluded,  reflectively. 

"  And  to  do  so  much  good  with  it,"  added  Gen- 
evieve.  Genevieve  had  insisted  that  her  mother-in- 
law  should  take  the  fourth  place  in  the  carriage ;  for 
the  drive  would  be  excellent  for  Mrs.  Franklin,  who 
was  far  from  strong;  whereas,  for  herself,  as  she 
was  in  perfect  health,  no  change  was  necessary. 
Genevieve  might  have  mentioned,  also,  that  she  had 
had  change  enough  for  her  whole  life,  and  to  spare, 
during  the  years  which  her  husband  had  spent  in 
the  navy ;  for  the  younger  Mrs.  Franklin  did  not  en 
joy  varying  scenes.  A  house  of  her  own  and  every 
thing  in  it  hers ;  prearranged  occupations,  all  useful 
or  beneficent,  following  each  other  regularly  in  an 
unbroken  rou<nd ;  a  leading  place  in  the  manage 
ment  of  charitable  institutions ;  the  writing  and  de 
spatching  of  letters,  asking  for  contributions  to  these 
institutions ;  the  general  supervision  of  the  clergy, 
with  an  eye  to  dangerous  ritualistic  tendencies ;  the 
conscientious  endeavor  to  tell  her  friends  on  all  oc 
casions  what  they  ought  to  do  (Genevieve  was  never 
angry  when  they  disagreed  with  her,  she  only  pitied 
them.  There  was,  in  fact,  no  one  she  knew  whom 
she  had  not  felt  herself  competent,  at  one  time  or 
another,  to  pity)  —  all  this  gave  her  the  sense  of 
doing  good.  And  to  Genevieve  that  was  more  pre 
cious  than  all  else — the  feeling  that  she  was  doing 
good.  "  Ruth  is  right ;  it  must  be  enchanting  to 


have  money,"  she  went  on.  "  I  have  often  planned 
what  I  should  do  myself  if  I  had  a  fortune.  I  think 
I  may  say  that  I  can  direct,  administer ;  I  have  never 
seen  or  read  of  any  charitable  institution,  refuge,  hos 
pital,  home,  asylum,  or  whatever  it  may  be,  which 
seemed  too  large  or  too  complicated  for  me  to  un 
dertake.  On  the  contrary,  I  know  I  should  like  it; 
I  feel  that  I  have  that  sort  of  capacity."  Her  face 
kindled  as  she  spoke ;  her  genius  (for  she  had  a 
genius,  that  of  directorship)  was  stirring  within  her. 

"  You  certainly  have  one  part  of  the  capacity,  and 
that  is  the  despotism,"  remarked  Dolly,  laughing. 
"  The  other  members  of  your  Board  of  Managers  for 
the  Colored  Home,  for  instance — Mrs.  Baxter,  Miss 
Wynne,  Miss  Kent — they  haven't  a  voice  in  even  the 
smallest  matter,  poor  souls !  You  rule  them  with  a 
rod  of  iron — all  for  their  good,  no  doubt." 

"  As  it  is,"  continued  the  younger  Mrs.  Franklin, 
combating  not  Dolly's  sarcasms  (to  which  she  had 
paid  no  attention),  but  her  own  sincere  longings — 
"  as  it  is,  I  cannot  build  a  hospital  at  present,  though 
I  don't  give  up  hope  for  the  future.  But  I  can  at 
least  give  my  prayers  to  all,  and  that  I  do ;  I  never 
ring  a  door-bell  without  offering  an  inward  petition 
that  something  I  may  say  will  help  those  whom  1 
shall  see  when  I  go  in." 

"  Now  that's  generous,"  commented  Dolly.  "  But 
don't  be  too  unselfish,  Genevieve ;  think  of  yourself 
occasionally ;  why  not  pray  that  something  they  may 
say  will  be  a  help  to  you  ?" 


U'J 


After  the  arrival  of  his  party  at  the  Warm  Springs, 
Chase  devoted  a  half-hour  to  a  brief  but  exhaustive 
examination  of  the  site,  the  pool,  and  the  buildings. 
"When  we  have  made  a  Tyrol  of  Buncombe,  we'll 
annex  this  place  as  a  sort  of  Baden-Baden,"  he  said. 
"  Thirty-five  miles  from  Asheville — that  will  just  do. 
Ever  tried  the  baths,  commodore  ?" 

"  You  must  apply  to  somebody  who  has  rheuma 
tism,  Mr.  Chase,"  answered  Etheridge,  loftily. 

"  The  pool  has  an  abundant  supply  at  a  tempera 
ture  of  104  Fahrenheit,"  Chase  went  on,  with  the 
gleam  of  a  smile  showing  itself  in  his  eyes  for  a 
moment  (for  the  commodore's  air  of  youth  always 
amused  him  ;  it  was  so  determined).  "  Baden-Baden 
was  one  of  the  prettiest  little  places  I  saw  over  there, 
on  the  other  side  of  the  big  pond.  They've  taken 
lots  of  pains  to  lay  out  a  promenade  along  a  stream, 
and  the  stream  is  about  as  big  as  one  from  a  garden- 
hose  !  But  here  there  could  be  a  walk  worth  some 
thing — along  this  French  Broad." 

They  were  strolling  near  the  river  in  the  red 
light  of  the  sunset.  "  Their  forest  that  they  talk 
about,  their  Black  Forest,  is  all  guarded  and  pa 
trolled,"  Chase  continued  ;  "  every  tree  counted  ! 
I  don't  call  that  a  forest  at  all.  Now  these  woods 
are  perfectly  wild.  Why  —  they're  as  wild  as 
Noah !" 

"  Don't  you  mean  old  as  Noah  ?"  inquired  Ruth, 
laughing. 

"  Certainly  not,"  commented  Jared.     "  Noah  was 


100 


extremely  wild.  And  not  in  his  youth  only ;  in  his 
age  as  well." 

"The  first  thing,  however,  would  be  the  roads," 
Chase  went  on.  "  I  never  thought  I  should  have  to 
take  a  back  seat  about  the  United  States  of  America  ! 
But  I  returned  from  Europe  singing  small,  I  can  tell 
you,  about  our  roads.  Talk  about  the  difficulty  of 
making  'em  ?  Go  and  look  at  Switzerland  !" 

"  By  all  means,"  said  Ruth,  promptly.  "  Only  tell 
us  how,  Mr.  Chase.  We'll  go  at  once."  She  was 
walking  with  her  brother,  her  hat  dangling  by  its 
elastic  cord  from  her  arm. 

Chase  came  out  of  his  plans.  "  So  you  want  to 
see  Switzerland,  do  you  ?"  he  said,  in  an  indulgent 
tone. 

Euth  lifted  her  hat,  and  made  with  it  a  gesture 
which  took  in  the  entire  horizon.  "I  wish  to  see 
everything  in  the  world  !"  Jared  took  her  hat  away 
from  her,  put  it  on  her  head  and  secured  it,  or  tried 
to  secure  it.  "  Will  you  take  me,  Jared  ?  I  mean 
some  day  ?"  she  said,  as  he  bungled  with  the  cord, 
endeavoring  to  get  it  over  her  hair.  "  That's  not  the 
way."  She  unbuttoned  the  loop  and  adjusted  it.  It 
was  a  straw  hat  (thanks  to  Genevieve,  a  new  one), 
which  shaded  her  face,  but  left  free,  behind,  the 
thick  braids  which  covered  her  small  head  from 
crown  to  throat. 

"  Once,  pussy,  I  might  have  answered  yes.  But 
now  I'm  not  so  sure,"  replied  Jared,  rather  gloomily. 

"  I  don't  want  to  go,  I  wasn't  in  earnest ;  I  only 


101 


want  to  stay  where  you  are,"  exclaimed  his  young 
sister,  her  mood  changing.  "  But  if  only  you  had 
never  left  the  navy  !  If  only  you  were  not  tied  down 
in  that  horrid,  horrid  Raleigh  !" 

"  Is  Raleigh  so  very  horrid  ?"  inquired  Chase. 

"  Any  place  is  horrid  that  keeps  Jared  shut  up  in  a 
warehouse  all  day,"  announced  Ruth,  indignantly. 

Mrs.  Franklin,  who  was  behind  with  Etheridge, 
came  forward,  took  Ruth's  arm,  and  led  her  back. 

"  She  is  sorry  that  you  left  the  service  ?"  Chase  in 
quired  of  the  brother. 

Ruth  overheard  this  question.  "  Jared  was  always 
well  when  he  was  in  the  navy,"  she  called  out.  "  No, 
His  Grand,  I  will  say  it :  he  was  always  well,  and  he 
was  happy  too  ;  Dolly  has  told  me  so.  Now  he  is 
never  well ;  he  is  growing  so  thin  that  I  can't  bear  to 
see  it.  And  as  for  happiness  —  he  is  miserable!'1'' 
Her  voice  broke  ;  she  stood  still,  her  breast  heaving. 

Jared  strolled  on,  his  hands  in  the  pockets  of  his 
flannel  coat.  "  It's  nothing,"  he  said  to  Chase,  who 
was  looking  back ;  "  she'll  get  over  it  in  a  moment. 
She  says  whatever  comes  into  her  head ;  we  have 
spoiled  her,  I  suppose.  She  was  so  much  younger, 
you  see  ;  the  last  of  my  mother's  six  children.  And 
the  three  who  came  before  her  had  died  in  infancy, 
so  there  was  a  great  to-do  when  this  one  lived." 

Chase  glanced  back  a  second  time.  Ruth,  Mrs. 
Franklin,  and  Etheridge  had  turned,  and  were  going 
towards  the  hotel.  "  She  appears  to  wish  that  you 
had  remained  in  the  navy;  isn't  that  rather  odd?" 


he  inquired,  the  idea  in  his  mind  being  simply  the 
facilities  that  existed  for  seeing  this  idolized  brother, 
now  that  Raleigh  was  his  home  instead  of  the  ocean. 

"  Odd  ?"  repeated  Jared.  And  his  tone  had  such 
a  strange  vibration  that  his  companion  turned  and 
looked  at  him. 

They  continued  their  walk  for  an  hour  longer. 
When  they  came  back,  they  found  the  commodore 
seated  on  the  veranda  of  the  cottage  which  had  been 
arranged  for  their  use  by  Chase's  courier.  Ruth  and 
Mrs.  Franklin  were  his  companions,  and  Dolly  was 
also  there,  resting  on  a  sofa  which  had  been  rolled 
out  from  the  room  behind.  Chase  and  Jared  light 
ed  cigars  ;  Etheridge  took  out  a  cigarette. 

"  Now  if  we  only  had  Maud  Muriel  with  her  long  ' 
clay  pipe  !"  said  Ruth.    There  was  no  trace  of  trou 
ble  left  in  her  voice ;  she  had  drawn  her  chair  close 
to  her  brother's,  and  seated  herself  contentedly. 

"  It's  to  the  pipe  you  owe  the  very  clever  likeness 
she  has  made  of  your  scamp  of  a  dog,"  remarked 
Etheridge.  "  The  smoking  relaxed  her  a  little,  with 
out  her  knowing  it,  and  so  she  didn't  confine  her 
self,  as  she  usually  docs,  to  the  purely  commonplace 
side." 

"  Petie  !      A  commonplace  side  !"  protested  Ruth. 

"  She  now  wishes  me  to  sit  to  her,"  said  Mrs. 
Franklin ;  "  for  my  wrinkles  have  grown  so  deep 
lately  that  she  is  sure  she  can  make  something  satis 
factorily  hideous.  Oh,  I  don't  mind  the  wrinkles, 
Mr.  Chase  !"  (for  Chase  had  begun  to  say,  "  Not  at 


108 


all,  ma'am  ").  "  I  received  my  quietus  long  ago. 
When  I  was  not  quite  forty,  there  was  some  question 
about  a  particular  dress-maker  whom  I  wished  to  see 
at  McCreery's.  *  Was  she  an  old  woman  ?'  inquired 
an  assistant.  '  We  have  only  one  old  fitter.'  It 
proved  to  be  the  person  I  meant.  She  was  of  my 
own  age.  The  same  year  I  asked  a  young  friend 
about  a  party  which  he  had  attended  the  night  be 
fore.  '  Dreadfully  dull,'  he  answered.  '  Nobody 
there  but  old  frumps.'  And  the  old  frumps  (as  I 
happened  to  know)  were  simply  twenty  or  thirty  of 
my  contemporaries." 

"Yes,  it's  hard ;  I  have  often  thought  so!"  said 
Etheridge,  with  conviction.  "  Men,  you  see,  have  no 
age.  But  nothing  saves  a  woman." 

"  Yes,  one  thing — namely,  to  look  like  a  sheep," 
replied  Mrs.  Franklin.  "  If  a  woman  wishes  her  face 
to  remain  young,  she  must  cultivate  calm,  and  even 
stolidity  ;  she  must  banish  changing  expressions ; 
she  must  give  her  facial  muscles  many  hours,  daily, 
of  absolute  repose.  Most  of  my  wrinkles  have  been 
caused  by  my  wretched  habit  of  contorting  my  poor 
thin  slave  of  a  face,  partly  of  course  to  show  my  in 
telligence  and  appreciation,  but  really,  also,  in  a  large 
measure  from  sympathy.  I  have  smiled  unflinch 
ingly  at  other  people's  jokes,  looked  sad  for  their 
griefs,  angry  for  their  injuries ;  I  have  raised  my 
eyebrows  to  my  hair  over  their  surprises,  and  knit 
ted  my  forehead  into  knots  over  their  mysteries  ;  in 
short,  I  have  never  ceased  to  grimace.  However, 


104 


even  to  the  sheep-women  there  comes  the  fatal  mo 
ment  when  their  cheeks  begin  to  look  like  those  of  an 
old  baby,"  she  concluded,  laughing. 

Dolly,  for  once  untalkative,  had  not  paid  attention 
to  this  conversation;  the  moon  had  risen,  and  she 
had  been  watching  its  radiance  descend  slowly  and 
make  a  silver  path  across  the  river.  It  was  so  beau 
tiful  !  And  (a  rare  occurrence  with  Dolly)  it  led  her 
to  think  of  herself.  "  How  I  should  have  enjoyed, 
enjoyed,  enjoyed  everything  if  I  had  only  been  well !" 
Even  the  tenderly  loving  mother  could  not  have  com 
prehended  fully  her  daughter's  heart  at  that  moment. 
For  Mrs.  Franklin  had  had  her  part,  such  as  it  was, 
on  the  stage  of  human  existence,  and  had  played  it. 
But  Dolly's  regret  was  for  a  life  unlived.  "  How  en- 
chantingly  lovely  !"  she  murmured  aloud,  looking 
at  the  moonlit  water. 

"  Yes,"  said  Etheridge  ;  "  and  its  greatest  beauty 
is  that  it's  primeval.  Lame,  I  suppose,  would  call  it 
prime valish  !" 

"I  had  thought  of  asking  the  senator  to  come 
along  with  us,"  observed  Chase. 

"  In  a  sedan-chair  ?"  inquired  Etheridge.  "  I  don't 
think  you  know  what  a  petrified  squam- doodle 
he  is!" 

"  No,  I  can't  say  I  do.  I  only  know  he's  a  sena 
tor,  and  we  want  some  senators.  To  boom  our  Tyr 
ol,  you  know7.  Generals,  too.  Cottages  might  be  put 
up  at  pleasant  points  near  Asheville  —  on  Beau- 
catcher,  for  instance — and  presented  to  half  a  dozen 


105 


of  the  best-known  Southern  generals  ?    What  do  you 
say  to  that  ?" 

"  Generals  as  much  as  you  like ;  but  when  you 
and  the  Willoughbys  spread  your  nets  for  senators, 
do  select  better  specimens  than  Achilles  Larue  !  He 
is  only  in  the  place  temporarily  at  best ;  he'll  be 
kicked  out  soon.  He  succeeded  the  celebrated  old 
senator  who  had  represented  this  state  for  years, 
and  was  as  well  known  here,  he  and  his  trunk,  as  the 
mountains  themselves.  When  he  resigned,  there 
happened  to  be  no  one  of  the  right  sort  ready  in  the 
political  field.  Larue  was  here,  he  was  a  college- 
bred  man,  and  he  had  some  reputation  as  an  author 
(he  has  written  a  dreadfully  dull  book,  The  Blue 
Ridf/e  in  the  Glacial  Period).  He  had  a  little  money, 
too,  and  that  was  in  his  favor.  So  they  put  him  in ; 
and  now  they  wish  they  hadn't !  He  has  no  mag 
netism,  no  go  ;  nothing  but  his  tiresome  drawing- 
copy  profile  and  his  good  clothes.  You  say  you 
don't  know  what  sort  of  a  person  he  is  ?  He  is  a 
decrier,  sir ;  nothing  ever  fully  pleases  him.  His 
opinions  on  all  subjects  are  so  clipped  to  the  bone, 
so  closely  shaved  and  denuded,  that  they  are  like  the 
plucked  chickens,  blue  and  skinny,  that  one  sees  for 
sale  at  a  stall.  Achilles  Larue  never  smokes.  On  the 
hottest  day  Achilles  Larue  remains  clammily  cold. 
He  has  no  appreciation  of  a  good  dinner;  he  lives  on 
salt  mackerel  and  digestive  crackers.  Finally,  to 
sum  him  up,  he  is  a  man,  sir,  who  can  neither  ride 
nor  drive — a  man  who  knows  nothing  whatever  about 


106 


a  horse !  What  do  you  suppose  he  asked  me,  when 
I  was  looking  at  a  Blue -Grass  pacer  last  year? 
'  Does  he  possess  endurance  ?'  Yes — actually  those 
words  of  ahorse  !  '  Does  he  possess  endurance  ?'  "  re 
peated  Etheridge,  pursing  up  his  lips  and  pronounc 
ing  the  syllables  in  a  mincing  tone. 

"You  say  he  has  nothing  but  his  drawing -copy 
profile  and  his  good  clothes,"  remarked  Dolly.  "  But 
he  has  something  more,  commodore  :  the  devotion 
of  Mrs.  Kip  and  Miss  Billy  Breeze." 

Etheridge  looked  discomfited. 

"Two  ladies  ?"  said  Chase.  "  Why,  he's  in  luck  ! 
Bachelor,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  lie  is  a  widower,"  answered  Mrs.  Franklin. 
"  His  wife  happened  to  have  been  a  fool.  He  now 
believes  that  all  women  are  idiots." 

"  He  is  a  man  who  has  never  written,  and  who 
never  will  write,  a  book  that  stands  on  its  own  feet, 
whether  good  or  bad ;  but  only  books  about  books," 
grumbled  Etheridge.  "  He  has  merely  the  commen 
tator's  mind.  His  views  on  the  Glacial  Period  are 
all  borrowed.  He  can't  be  original  even  about  an 
iceberg !" 

"  The  ladies  I  have  mentioned  think  that  his 
originality  is  his  strongest  point,"  objected  Dolly. 
"  He  produces  great  effects  by  describing  some  one 
in  this  way,  for  instance  :  '  He  had  small  eyes  and  a 
grin.  He  was  remarkably  handsome.'  This  leaves 
them  open-mouthed.  But  Miss  Billy  herself,  as  she 
stands,  is  his  greatest  effect;  she  was  never  outlined 


107 


in  very  vivid  hues,  and  now  she  has  so  effaced  her 
self,  rubbed  herself  out,  as  it  were  (from  fear  lest  he 
should  call  her  « sensational '),  that  she  is  like  a 
skeleton  leaf.  She  has  the  greatest  desire  to  be 
*  delicate,'  extremely  delicate,  in  everything  that  she 
does ;  and  she  tries  to  sing,  therefore,  with  so  much 
expression  that  it's  all  expression  and  very  little  sing 
ing  !  *  Coarse  !'  —  that  is  to  her  the  most  terrible 
word  in  the  whole  vocabulary.  I  asked  her  once 
whether  her  horned  tryceratops,  with  his  seventy- 
five  feet  of  length,  might  not  have  been  a  little 
coarse  in  his  manners." 

"  I  declare  I'll  never  go  to  see  the  woman  again  ; 
she  is  such  a  goose !"  exclaimed  Etheridge,  angrily. 

Jared  laughed.  And  then  his  mother  laughed  also, 
happy  to  see  him  amused.  But  at  the  same  time  she 
was  thinking:  "You  may  not  go  to  see  Billy.  But, 
dear  me  !  you  will  come  to  see  us  forever  and  for 
ever  !"  And  she  had  a  weary  vision  of  Etheridge, 
entering  with  his  "  hum-ha,"  and  his  air  of  youth,  five 
or  six  times  a  week  as  long  as  she  lived. 

"  Commodore,"  said  Dolly,  "  you  may  not  go  to 
see  Miss  Breeze.  But  I  am  sure  you  will  come  to  see 
us,  with  your  cheerful  hum-ha,  and  your  youthful 
face,  as  long  as  we  live." 

Mrs.  Franklin  passed  her  hand  over  her  forehead. 
u  There  it  is  again  !"  she  thought.  For,  strangely 
often,  Dolly  would  give  voice  to  the  very  ideas  that 
were  passing  through  her  mother's  mind  at  the  mo 
ment.  At  L'Hommedicu  the  two  would  fall  into 


108 


silence  sometimes,  and  remain  silent  for  a  half-hour, 
one  with  her  embroidery,  the  other  with  her  knit 
ting.  And  then  when  Dolly  spoke  at  last,  it  would 
be  of  the  exact  subject  which  was  in  her  mother's 
mind.  Mrs.  Franklin  no  longer  exclaimed:  "  IIow 
could  you  know  I  was  thinking  of  that !"  It  hap 
pened  too  often.  She  herself  never  divined  Dolly's 
thoughts.  It  was  Dolly  who  divined  hers,  most  of 
the  time  unconsciously. 

Meanwhile  Etheridge  had  replied,  in  a  reassuring 
voice  :  "  Well,  Dolly,  I'll  do  my  best ;  you  may  count 
upon  that."  And  then  Ruth,  leaning  her  head  against 
her  brother's  arm  so  that  her  face  was  hidden,  laughed 
silently. 

From  the  Warm  Springs  they  drove  over  the  Great 
Smoky  Mountains  into  Tennessee.  Then  return 
ing,  making  no  haste,  they  climbed  slowly  up  again 
among  the  peaks.  At  the  top  of  the  pass  they 
paused  to  gaze  at  the  far-stretching  view — Tennes 
see,  Kentucky,  Virginia,  North  Carolina,  South  Caro 
lina,  and  Georgia ;  on  the  west,  the  Cumberland 
ranges  sloping  towards  Chattanooga ;  in  the  east, 
the  crowded  summits  of  the  Blue  Ridge,  their  hue 
an  unchanging  azure ;  the  Black  Mountains  with 
Mitchell,  the  Cat-tail  Peak,  the  Balsams,  the  Hairy 
Bear,  the  Big  Craggy,  Great  Pisgah,  the  Grandfa 
ther,  and  many  more.  The  brilliant  sunshine  and 
the  crystalline  atmosphere  revealed  every  detail — 
the  golden  and  red  tints  of  the  gigantic  bald  cliffs 
near  them,  the  foliage  of  every  tree  ;  the  farm-houses 


109 


like  white  dots  thousands  of  feet  below.  Up  here  at 
the  top  of  the  pass  there  were  no  clearings  visible; 
for  long  miles  in  every  direction  the  forest  held  un 
broken  sway,  filling  the  gorges  like  a  leafy  ocean, 
and  sweeping  up  to  the  surrounding  summits  in  the 
darker  tints  of  the  black  balsams.  The  air  was  filled 
with  delicate  wild  odors,  a  fragrance  which  is  like  no 
other — the  breath  of  a  virgin  forest. 

"And  you  want  to  put  a  railroad  here  ?"  broke  out 
Dolly,  suddenly.  She  addressed  Horace  Chase,  who 
had  drawn  up  his  sorrels  beside  the  carriage. 

"  Oh  no,  Miss  Dolly ;  it  can't  get  up  so  high,  you 
know,"  he  answered,  not  comprehending  her  dislike. 
"  It  will  have  to  go  through  down  below  ;  tunnels." 

"  The  principal  objection  I  have  to  your  railroad, 
Chase,  is  that  it  will  bring  railroad  good-byes  to  this 
uncorrupted  neighborhood,"  said  Jared.  "  For  there 
will  be,  of  course,  a  station.  And  people  will  have 
to  go  there  to  see  their  friends  off.  The  train  will 
always  be  late  in  starting ;  then  the  heretofore  sin 
cere  Ashevillians  will  be  driven  to  all  the  usual  exag 
gerations  and  falsities  to  fill  the  eternal  time  ;  they 
will  have  to  repeat  the  same  things  over  and  over, 
stand  first  on  one  leg  and  then  on  the  other,  and 
smile  until  they  are  absolute  clowns.  Meanwhile  their 
departing  friends  will  be  obliged  to  lean  out  of  the 
car-windows  in  return,  and  repeat  inanities  and  grin, 
until  they  too  are  perfectly  haggard."  Jared  was 
now  seated  beside  Etheridge  ;  he  had  given  up  his 
place  in  the  cart  to  Ruth  for  an  hour  or  two.  Sev- 


110 


eral  times  Mrs.  Franklin  herself  had  tried  the  cart. 
She  was  very  happy,  for  Jared  had  undoubtedly 
gained  strength ;  there  was  a  faint  color  in  his 
cheeks,  and  his  face  looked  less  worn,  his  eyes  a 
little  less  dreary. 

"  How  I  should  like  to  see  all  the  mountains  !" 
exclaimed  Ruth,  suddenly,  looking  at  the  crowded 
circle  of  peaks. 

"  Well — I  suppose  there  are  some  sort  of  roads  ?" 
Chase  answered. 

"  Put  the  two  pairs  together  and  make  a  four-in- 
hand,"  suggested  Etheridge,  eagerly.  "  Then  we 
might  drive  down  Transylvania  way.  When  I  wasn't 
more  than  eighteen  I  often  drove  a  four-in-hand  over 
the — the — the  range  up  there  where  I  was  born,"  he 
concluded,  with  fresh  inward  disgust  over  the  for 
gotten  name. 

"  The  Green  Mountains,"  said  Mrs.  Franklin. 

"  Not  at  all.  The  Catskills,"  Etheridge  answered, 
curtly.  His  birthplace  was  Rutland,  Vermont.  But 
on  principle  he  never  acknowledged  a  forgotten  title. 

"  This  is  the  country  of  the  moonshiners,  isn't  it?" 
asked  Chase,  his  keen  eyes  glancing  down  a  wild 
gorge. 

"  The  young  lady  beside  you  can  tell  about  that," 
Etheridge  answered. 

Chase  turned  to  Ruth,  surprised.  The  color  was 
leaving  her  face.  "  Yes,  I  did  see  ;  I  saw  a  man 
shot!"  she  said,  her  dark -fringed  blue  eyes  lifted 
to  his  with  an  awe -struck  expression.  "It  was  at 


Ill 


Crumb's,  the  house  where  we  stayed  the  first  night, 
you  know.  I  was  standing-  at  the  door.  A  man 
came  running  along  the  road,  trying  to  reach  the 
house.  Behind  him,  not  more  than  ten  feet  distant, 
came  another  man,  also  running.  He  held  a  pistol 
at  arm's  -  length.  He  fired  twice.  After  the  first 
shot,  the  man  in  front  still  ran.  After  the  second,  he 
staggered  along  for  a  step  or  two,  and  then  fell.  And 
the  other  man  disappeared."  These  short  sentences 
came  out  in  whispered  tones ;  when  she  finished,  her 
face  was  blanched. 

"  You  ought  not  to  have  seen  it.  You  ought  not 
to  have  told  me,"  said  Chase,  giving  an  indignant 
glance  towards  the  carriage  ;  he  thought  they  should 
have  prevented  the  narration. 

"  Oh,  don't  be  disturbed,  Mr.  Chase,"  said  Dolly, 
looking  at  him  from  her  cushions  with  an  amused 
smile.  "  The  balls  were  extracted,  and  the  man  is 
now  in  excellent  health.  Ruth  has  a  way  of  turning 
perfectly  white  and  then  enormously  red  on  all  occa 
sions.  She  was  much  whiter  last  week  when  it  was 
supposed  that  Petie  Trone,  Esq.,  had  inflammation  of 
the  lungs." 

And  Ruth  herself  was  already  laughing  again,  and 
the  red  had  returned. 

"  It  was  a  revenue  detective,"  explained  Mrs.  Frank 
lin  ;  "  I  mean  the  man  who  was  shot.  The  moun 
taineers  have  always  made  whiskey,  and  they  think 
that  they  have  a  right  to  make  it ;  they  look  upon 
the  detectives  as  spies." 


112 


But  Chase  had  no  sympathy  for  moonshiners  ;  he 
was  on  the  side  of  law  and  order.  u  The  govern 
ment  should  send  up  troops,"  he  said.  "  AVhat  else 
are  they  for  ?" 

"  It  is  not  the  business  of  the  army  to  hunt  out 
illicit  stills,"  replied  Jared  Franklin,  all  the  ex-officer 
in  his  haughty  tone. 

"  Well,  mayhe  not ;  you  see  I'm  only  a  civilian 
myself,"  remarked  Chase,  in  a  pacific  voice.  "  Shall 
we  go  on  ?" 

They  started  down  the  eastern  slope.  When  the 
cart  was  at  some  distance  in  front,  Ruth  said  :  "  Oh, 
Mr.  Chase,  thank  you  for  answering  so  good-natured 
ly.  My  brother  has  in  reality  a  sweet  temper.  But 
lately  he  has  been  so  out  of  sorts,  so  unhappy." 

"  Yes,  I  am  beginning  to  understand  about  that, 
Miss  Ruth  ;  I  didn't  at  first.  It's  a  great  pity.  Per 
haps  something  can  be  done  ?" 

"  No  ;  he  can't  get  back  into  the  navy  now,"  said 
Ruth,  sadly. 

"  But  a  change  of  some  kind  might  be  arranged," 
answered  Chase,  touching  the  off  horse. 

At  the  base  of  the  mountains  they  followed  the 
river  road  again,  a  rocky  track,  sometimes  almost  in 
the  water,  under  towering  cliffs  that  rose  steeply, 
their  summits  leaning  forward  a  little  as  though 
they  would  soon  topple  over.  At  many  points  it 
was  a  veritable  caiion,  and  the  swift  current  of  the 
stream  foamed  so  whitely  over  the  scattered  rocks 
of  its  bed  that  it  was  like  the  rapids  of  Niagara. 


113 


Here  and  there  were  bold  islands ;  the  forest  on 
botli  sides  was  splendid  with  the  rich  tints  of  the 
Rhododendron  maximum  in  full  bloom  ;  not  patches 
or  single  bushes,  but  high  thickets,  a  solid  wall  of 
blazing  color. 

Their  stopping-place  for  the  last  evening  was  the 
farm-house  called  Crumb's,  where  they  had  also  spent 
the  first  night  of  their  journey  on  their  way  west 
ward.  Crumb's  was  one  of  the  old  farms ;  the 
grandfather  of  David  Crumb  had  tilled  the  same 
acres.  It  was  a  pleasant  place  near  the  river,  the 
house  comparatively  large  and  comfortable.  The 
Crumbs  were  well-to-do  in  the  limited  mountain 
sense  of  the  term,  though  they  had  probably  never 
had  a  hundred  dollars  in  cash  in  their  lives.  Mrs. 
Crumb,  a  lank  woman  with  stooping  shoulders  and 
a  soft,  flat  voice,  received  them  without  excitement. 
Nothing  that  life  had  to  offer,  for  good  or  for  ill, 
could  ever  bring  excitement  again  to  Portia  Crumb. 
Her  four  sons  had  been  killed  in  battle  in  Virginia, 
one  after  the  other,  and  the  mother  lived  on  patient 
ly.  David  Crumb  was  more  rebellious  against  what 
he  called  their  "  bad  luck."  Once  a  week,  and  some 
times  twice,  he  went  to  Asheville,  making  the  journey 
a  pretext  for  forgetting  troubles  according  to  the  an 
cient  way.  He  was  at  Asheville  now,  his  wife  ex 
plained,  "  with  a  load  of  wood."  She  did  not  add 
that  he  would  probably  return  with  a  load  of  an 
other  sort  —  namely,  a  mixture  of  whiskey  and  re 
pentance.  The  two  never  spoke  of  their  lost  boys ; 


114 


when  they  talked  together  it  was  always  about  "  the 
craps." 

Porshy,  as  her  friends  called  her,  having  been 
warned  by  Chase's  courier  that  her  former  guests 
were  returning,  had  set  her  supper-table  with  care. 
People  stopped  at  Crumb's  perforce  ;  for,  save  at 
Warm  Springs,  there  were  no  inns  in  the  French 
Broad  Valley.  Ruth  had  been  there  often.  For  the 
girl,  who  was  a  fearless  horsewoman,  was  extrava 
gantly  fond  of  riding ;  at  one  time  or  another  she 
had  ridden  almost  every  horse  in  Asheville,  includ 
ing  old  Daniel  himself.  Of  late  years  the  Crumbs 
would  have  been  glad  to  be  relieved  of  all  visitors. 
But  the  mountain  farmers  of  the  South  are  invariably 
hospitable — hospitable  even  with  their  last  slice  of 
corn-bread,  their  last  cup  of  coffee.  Porshy,  there 
fore,  had  brought  out  her  best  table-  cloth  (home 
spun,  like  her  sheets),  her  six  thin  silver  teaspoons, 
her  three  china  teacups  and  saucers.  "  Yes,  rale 
chiny,  you  bet,"  she  had  said,  in  her  gentle,  lifeless 
voice,  when  Mrs.  Franklin,  who  knew  the  tragedy  of 
the  house,  was  benevolently  admiring  the  painstak 
ing  effort.  The  inevitable  hot  biscuits  were  waiting 
in  a  flat  pan,  together  with  fried  bacon  and  potatoes 
and  coffee.  Chase's  supplies  of  potted  meats,  hot 
house  fruit,  and  excellent  champagne  made  the  meal 
an  extraordinary  combination.  The  table  was  set  in 
the  kitchen,  which  was  also  the  living-room.  One 
end  of  the  large,  low-browed  apartment  was  blocked 
by  the  loom,  for  Portia  had  been  accustomed  to  spin, 


115 


weave,  dye,  and  fashion  all  the  garments  worn  by  her 
self  and  her  family. 

As  they  left  the  table,  the  sinking  sun  sent  his 
horizontal  beams  through  the  open  windows  in  a 
flood  of  golden  light.  "  Let  us  go  up  to  the  ter 
race,"  said  Ruth. 

The  terrace  was  a  plateau  on  the  mountain-side  at 
some '  distance  above  ;  a  winding  path  led  thither 
through  the  thick  forest.  "  It  is  too  far,"  said  Mrs. 
Franklin.  "  It  is  at  least  a  mile  from  here,  and  a 
steep  climb  all  the  way  ;  and,  besides,  it  will  soon  be 
dark." 

"  Oh,  but  I  want  to  go  immensely,  His  Grand. 
Mr.  Chase  liked  it  so  much  when  we  were  up  there 
on  our  way  out  that  he  says  it  shall  be  named  after 
me.  And  perhaps  they  will  put  up  a  cottage." 

"  Yes,  Ruth's  Terrace,  ma'am.  That  is  the  name 
I  propose,"  said  Chase. 

"  There  will  be  light  enough  to  go  up  ;  and  then 
we  can  wait  there  until  the  moon  rises,"  continued 
Ruth.  "  The  moon  is  full  to  -  night,  and  the  view 
will  be  lovely.  You.  will  go,  Jared,  won't  you  ?  Oh, 
please !" 

She  had  her  way,  as  usual.  Chase  and  Jared, 
lighting  cigars,  prepared  to  accompany  her. 

"  You'll  stay  here,  I  suppose,  commodore  ?"  said 
Chase. 

"  Stay  here  !  By  no  means.  There  is  nothing  I 
like  better  than  an  evening  stroll,"  answered  Eth- 
eridge,  heroically.  And,,  lighting  a  cigarette,  he 


116 


walked  on  in  advance,  swinging  his  cane  with  an 
air  of  meditative  enjoyment. 

Dolly  and  Mrs.  Franklin,  meanwhile,  sat  beside  the 
small  fire  which  Portia  had  made  on  the  broad 
hearth  of  her  "  best  room."  The  fire,  of  aromatic 
"  fat-pine  "  splinters  only,  without  large  sticks,  had 
been  kindled  more  on  account  of  the  light  than 
from  any  need  of  its  warmth ;  for  the  evening, 
though  cool,  was  not  cold.  The  best  room,  how 
ever,  was  large,  and  the  great  forest  and  cliffs  out 
side,  and  the  wild  river,  made  the  little  blaze  seem 
cheerful.  Portia  had  been  proud  of  this  apartment 
in  the  old  days  before  the  war.  In  one  corner  there 
was  a  bed  covered  with  a  brilliant  patch-work  quilt ; 
on  the  mantel-piece  there  was  an  old  accordion,  and 
a  vase  for  flowers  whose  design  was  a  hand  holding 
a  cornucopia;  the  floor  was  covered  by  a  rag  car 
pet;  and  tacked  on  the  walls  in  ?,  long  row  were 
colored  fashion  plates  from  Godeifs  Ladifs  Book 
for  1858.  At  ten  o'clock  Ruth  and  the  commo 
dore  came  in.  But  long  after  midnight,  when  the 
others  were  asleep,  Chase  and  Jared  Franklin  still 
strolled  to  and  fro  along  the  river  road  in  the 
moonlight,  talking.  The  next  day  they  all  returned 
to  Asheville. 

At  the  end  of  the  week,  when  Jared  went  back  to 
his  business,  Chase  accompanied  him.  "I  thought  I 
might  as  well  take  a  look  at  that  horrid  Raleigh,"  he 
said  to  Ruth,  with  solemn  humor.  "You  see,  I  have 
been  laboring  under  the  impression  that  it  was  a  very 


117 


pretty  place — a  mistake  which  evidently  wants  to  be 
cleared  up." 

Ten  days  later  the  mud-bespattered  Bine  Ridge 
stage  came  slowly  into  Asheville  at  its  accustomed 
hour.  The  mail-bags  were  thrown  out,  and  then  the 
postmaster,  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  with  his  spectacles 
on  his  nose  and  his  straw  hat  tilted  back  on  his 
head,  began  the  distribution  of  their  contents,  as 
sisted  (through  the  open  windows)  by  the  usual 
group  of  loungers.  This  friendly  audience  had  its 
elbows  on  the  sill.  It  made  accompanying  com 
ments  as  follows :  lt  Hurry  up,  you  veteran  of  the 
Mexican  war  !"  "  That  letter  ain't  for  Johnny  Mon 
roe.  It's  for  Jem  Morse ;  I  can  see  the  direction 
from  here.  Where's  your  eyes  ?"  "  Six  for  Gen 
eral  Cyarter  ?  Lucky  reb,  he  is  !" 

Twenty  minutes  later  Genevieve  Franklin  entered 
the  parlor  of  L'Hommedieu,  a  flush  of  deep  rose- 
color  in  each  cheek,  her  eyes  lustrous.  "  Mamma,  a 
letter  from  Jay !  It  is  too  good —  I  cannot  tell 
you — "  Her  words  came  out  pantingly,  for  she  had 
been  running ;  she  sat  down  with  her  hand  over  her 
breast  as  if  to  help  herself  breathe. 

"  From  Jared  ?  Oh,  where  are  my  glasses  ?"  said 
Mrs.  Franklin,  searching  vainly  in  her  pocket  and 
then  on  the  table.  "  Here,  Dolly.  Quick  !  Read 
it!" 

And  then  Dolly,  also  excited,  read  Jared's  letter 
aloud. 

Ruth  came  in  in  time  to  hear  this  sentence:  "I 


118 


am  to  have  charge  of  their  Charleston  office  (the 
office  of  the  Columbian  Line),  at  a  salary  of  three 
thousand  dollars  a  year." 

"  Who  ?  What  ?  Not  Jared  ?  And  at  Charles 
ton?"  cried  the  girl,  clapping  her  hands.  "  Oh,  how 
splendid  !  For  it's  the  water,  you  know ;  the  salt 
water  at  last.  With  the  ships  coming  and  going,  and 
the  ocean,  it  won't  be  so  awfully  inland  to  him,  poor 
fellow,  as  Raleigh  and  Atlanta." 

"And  the  large  salary,"  said  Genevieve,  still 
breathless.  "  That's  Horrie !  I  have  felt  sure, 
from  the  first,  that  he  would  do  something  for  us. 
Such  an  old  friend  of  mine.  Dear,  dear  Horrie  !" 

A  week  later  Chase  returned.  "  Yes,  he'll  get  off 
to  Charleston,  ma'am,  in  a  few  days,"  he  said  to  Mrs. 
Franklin.  "  When  he  is  settled  there,  you  must  pay 
him  a  visit.  I  guess  you'll  end  by  going  there  to  live." 

"  Oh,  we  can't ;  we  have  this  house,  and  no  house 
there.  If  I  could  only  sell  that  place  in  Florida ! 
However,  we  can  stop  in  Charleston  when  we  go  to 
Florida  this  winter.  That  is,  if  we  go,"  added  the 
mother,  remembering  her  load  of  debts.  But  she 
soon  forgot  it  again  ;  she  forgot  everything  save  her 
joy  in  the  brighter  life  for  her  son.  "  How  can  I 
thank  you  ?"  she  said  to  Chase,  gratefully. 

"  Oh,  it's  no  favor,  ma'am.  We  have  always  need 
ed  a  first-class  man  at  Charleston,  and  we've  never 
had  it ;  we  think  ourselves  very  lucky  in  being  able 
to  secure  Mr.  Franklin." 

As  he  went  back  to  the  Old  North  with  Etheridge, 


119 


whom  he  had  met  at  L'Hommedieu  (as  Mrs.  Franklin 
would  have  said,  "  of  course  !"),  Chase  added  some 
further  particulars.  "You  never  saw  such  a  mess  as 
he'd  made  of  it,  commodore.  He  told  me — we  had 
a  good  deal  of  talk  when  we  took  that  French  Broad 
drive — that  his  business  wasn't  what  he  had  hoped 
it  would  be  when  he  went  into  it ;  that  he  was  afraid 
it  was  running  down.  Running  down  ?  It  was  at  a 
standstill;  six  months  more, and  he  would  have  been 
utterly  swamped.  The  truth  is,  he  didn't  know  how 
to  manage  it.  How  should  he  ?  What  does  a  navy 
man  know  about  leather?  He  saw  that  it  was  all 
wrong,  yet  he  didn't  know  how  to  help  it ;  that  took 
the  heart  out  of  him,  you  see.  There  was  no  use  in 
going  on  with  it  a  day  longer ;  and  so  I  told  him,  as 
soon  as  I  had  looked  into  the  thing  a  little.  He  has, 
therefore,  made  an  arrangement — sold  out.  And  now 
he  is  going  to  take  a  place  at  Charleston — our  Colum 
bian  Line." 

"  To  the  tune  of  three  thousand  dollars  a  year,  I 
understand  ?" 

"  He'll  be  worth  it  to  us.  A  navy  officer  as  agent 
will  be  a  feather  in  our  caps.  It's  a  pity  he  couldn't 
take  command  of  one  of  our  steamers — with  his 
hankering  for  the  sea.  Our  steamer  officers  wear 
uniforms,  you  know  ?" 

"Take  care  that  he  doesn't  knock  you  down,"  said 
Etheridge,  dryly. 

"Oh,  I  haven't  suggested  it.  I  see  he's  cranky," 
Chase  answered. 


120 


When  Jared  Franklin  reached  Charleston,  he  went 
to  the  office  of  the  Columbian  Company.  It  faced  a 
wharf  or  dock,  and  from  its  windows  he  could  see 
the  broad  harbor,  the  most  beautiful  port  of  the 
South  Atlantic  coast.  lie  looked  at  Fort  Snmter, 
then  off  towards  the  low  white  beaches  of  Morris 
Island ;  he  knew  the  region  well ;  his  ship  had  lain 
outside  during  the  war.  Deliciously  sweet  to  him 
was  the  salt  tang  of  the  sea ;  already,  miles  inland, 
he  had  perceived  it,  and  had  put  his  head  out  of  the 
car  window  ;  the  salt  marshes  had  been  to  him  like 
a  tonic,  as  the  train  rushed  past.  The  ocean  out  there 
in  the  east,  too,  that  was  rather  better  than  a  clatter 
ing  street !  Words  could  never  express  how  he 
loathed  the  remembrance  of  the  hides  and  the  leath 
er.  A  steamer  of  the  Columbian  Line  came  in.  lie 
went  on  board,  contemptuous  of  everything,  of 
course,  but  enjoying  that  especial  species  of  con 
tempt.  Ascending  to  the  upper  deck,  he  glanced  at 
the  rigging  and  smoke-stacks.  They  were  not  what 
he  approved  of ;  but,  oh  !  the  solace  of  abusing  any 
sort  of  rigging  outlined  against  the  sky  !  He  went 
down  and  looked  at  the  engines ;  he  spoke  to  the  en 
gineer;  he  prowled  all  over  the  ship,  from  stem  to 
stern,  his  feet  enjoying  the  sensation  of  something 
underneath  them  that  floated.  That  evening,  seated 
on  a  bench  at  the  Battery,  with  his  arms  on  the  rail 
ing,  he  looked  out  to  sea.  His  beloved  old  life  came 
back  to  him;  all  his  cruises — the  Mediterranean 
ports,  Yillefranche  and  the  Bay  of  Naples ;  the 


121 


harbors  of  China,  Rio  Janeiro,  Alexandria ;  tropical 
islands ;  the  color  of  the  Pacific — while  the  wash  of 
the  water  below  sounded  in  his  ears.  At  last,  long 
after  midnight,  he  rose ;  he  came  back  to  reality 
again.  "  Well,  even  this  is  a  great  windfall.  And  I 
must  certainly  do  the  best  I  can  for  that  long-legged 
fellow  " — so  he  said  to  himself  as  he  went  up  Meet 
ing  Street  towards  his  hotel.  He  liked  Chase  after 
a  fashion  ;  he  appreciated  his  friendliness  and  his 
genius  for  business.  But  this  was  the  way  he 
thought  of  him — "that  long-legged  fellow."  Chase's 
fortune  made  no  impression  upon  him.  At  heart  he 
had  the  sailor's  chronic  indifference  to  money-mak 
ing.  But  at  heart  he  had  also  something  else — 
Genevieve ;  Genevieve  and  her  principles  and  plans, 
Genevieve  and  her  rules. 


CHAPTER    VI 

ONE  afternoon  early  in  September,  Miss  Billy 
Breeze,  her  cheeks  pink,  her  gentle  eyes  excited,  en 
tered  the  principal  store  of  Asheville,  the  establish 
ment  of  Messrs.  Pinkham  &  Bebb.  "  Kid  gloves, 
if  you  please,  Mr.  Bebb.  Delicate  shades.  No.  6." 
The  box  of  gloves  having  been  produced,  Miss  Billy 
selected  quickly  twelve  pairs.  "  I  will  take  these. 
And  please  add  twelve  pairs  of  white." 

Mr.  Bebb  was  astounded,  the  order  seemed  to  him 
reckless.  Everybody  in  Asheville  knew  that  Miss 
Billy's  income  was  six  hundred  dollars  a  year.  He 
made  up  the  parcel  slowly,  in  order  to  give  her 
time  to  change  her  mind.  But  Miss  Billy  paid  for 
the  twenty  -  four  pairs  without  a  quiver,  and,  with 
the  same  excited  look,  took  the  package  and  went 
out.  She  walked  down  the  main  street  to  its  last 
houses ;  she  came  back  on  the  other  side.  Turning 
to  the  right,  she  traversed  all  the  cross-roads  in  that 
direction.  When  this  was  done,  she  re-entered  the 
main  street  again,  and  passed  through  its  entire 
length  a  second  time.  It  was  Saturday,  the  day 
when  the  country  people  came  to  town.  Ten  moun 
taineers  in  a  row  were  sitting  on  their  heels  in  front 
of  the  post-office.  Mountain  women  on  horseback, 


123 


wearing  deep  sun -bonnets,  rode  up  and  down  the 
street,  bartering.  Wagons  passed  along,  loaded  with 
peaches  heaped  together  as  though  they  were  pota 
toes.  Miss  Billy  was  now  traversing  all  the  cross 
roads  to  the  left.  When  this  was  accomplished  she 
came  back  to  the  main  street,  and  began  over  again. 
It  took  about  an  hour  to  make  the  entire  circuit. 
At  half -past  five,  on  her  fourth  round,  still  walking 
quickly  and  always  with  an  air  of  being  bound  to 
some  especial  point,  she  met  Achilles  Lame.  "  Oh 
—  really  —  is  this  you,  Mr.  Lame?  Such  a  surprise 
to  see  you !  Lovely  day,  isn't  it  ?  I've  been  buying 
gloves."  She  opened  the  package  and  turned  over 
the  gloves  hastily.  "  Light  shades,  you  see.  I  —  I 
thought  I'd  better." 

Larue,  slightly  lifting  his  hat,  was  about  to  pass 
on. 

But  Miss  Billy  detained  him.  "  Of  course  you  are 
interested  in  the  news,  Mr.  Larue?  Weren't  you 
surprised  ?  I  was.  I  am  afraid  she  is  a  little  too 
young  for  him.  I  think  it  is  rather  better  when  they 
are  of  about  the  same  age  —  don't  you?"  She  had 
no  idea  that  she  had  been  walking,  and  at  twice  her 

O' 

usual  speed,  for  more  than  four  hours.  But  her 
slender  body  knew  ;  it  trembled  from  fatigue. 

Larue  made  another  move,  as  if  about  to  continue 
his  course. 

"  But  do  tell  me — weren't  you  surprised  ?"  Billy 
repeated,  hastily.  (For,  oh !  he  must  not  go  so 
soon.) 


124 


"  I  don't  think  I  am  ever  surprised,  Miss  Breeze." 

Here  Anthony  Etheridge  came  by,  and  stopped. 
He  looked  sternly  at  Miss  Billy.  "  But  what  do 
you  think  of  it,  Mr.  Larue  ?"  Billy  was  inquiring. 

"  I  have  not  thought  of  it,"  Laruc  responded, 
coldly. 

"  Are  you  selling  gloves  ?"  inquired  Etheridge. 
For  the  paper  having  fallen  to  the  ground,  the 
two  dozen  pairs  were  visible,  lying  in  confusion  over 
Billy's  arm. 

"  To  Mr.  Larue  ?"  (Giggle.)  »  Oh,  I  couldn't." 
(Giggle.)  "They're  only  No.  6."  For  poor  Billy 
had  one  humble  little  pride — her  pretty  hand. 

There  was  a  sound  of  horses'  feet,  and  Ruth 
Franklin  rode  round  the  corner,  on  Kentucky  Belle, 
giving  them  a  gay  nod  as  she  passed.  Horace  Chase 
and  Malachi  Hill  were  with  her,  both  mounted  on 
beautiful  horses  —  one  black,  one  chestnut ;  and 
at  some  distance  behind  followed  Chase's  groom. 
"  How  happy  she  looks !"  murmured  Miss  Billy, 
with  an  involuntary  sigh. 

"Yes.  She  has  obtained  what  she  likes,"  com 
mented  Larue.  "  Hers  is  a  frivolous  nature ;  she 
requires  gayety,  change,  luxury,  and  now  she  will 
have  them.  Her  family  are  very  wise  to  consent. 
..  For  they  have,  I  suspect,  but  little  money.  Her 
good  looks  will  soon  disappear  ;  at  thirty  she  will 
be  plain."  And  this  time,  decidedly,  he  walked 
away. 

Miss  Billy,  her  eyes  dimmed  by   unshed  tears, 


125 


looked  after  him.  "  Such  a — such  a  worldly  view  of 
marriage  !"  she  managed  to  articulate. 

"  What  can  you  expect  from  a  fish  ?"  answered  Eth- 
eridge,  secretly  glad  of  his  opportunity.  "  Achilles 
Larue  is  as  cold-blooded  as  a  mackerel,  and  always 
was.  I  don't  say  he  will  never  marry  again  ;  but 
if  he  does,  the  woman  he  selects  will  have  to  go 
down  on  her  knees  and  stay  there "  (Miss  Billy's 
eyes  looked  hopeful) ;  "  and  bring  him,  also,  a  good 
big  sum  of  money  in  her  hand."  Here,  noticing 
that  one  of  the  pairs  of  gloves  had  slipped  down  so 
far  that  it  was  held  by  the  tips  of  its  fingers  only, 
he  turned  away  with  a  sudden  "  Good-afternoon." 
For  he  had  had  rheumatism  all  night  in  the  small  of 
his  back ;  he  could  walk,  but  he  could  not  stoop. 

Miss  Billy  went  home  much  depressed.  The  night 
before,  after  her  usual  devotions  and  an  hour's  pe 
rusal  of  The  Blue  Ridge  in  the  Glacial  Period  (she 
read  the  volume  through  regularly  once  a  month), 
she  had  attempted  a  thought  -  transference.  She 
had,  indeed,  made  many  such  experiments  since 
Maud  Muriel's  explanation  of  the  process.  But  last 
night  she  had  for  the  first  time  succeeded  in  keeping 
her  mind  strictly  to  the  subject ;  for  nearly  ten  min 
utes,  with  her  face  screwed  up  by  the  intensity  of 
the  effort,  she  had  willed  continuously,  "  Like  me, 
Achilles,  like  me  !"  (She  was  too  modest  even  to 
think  "  love  "  instead  of  "  like.")  "  You  must ! 
You  shall !"  And  now,  when  at  last  she  had  suc 
ceeded  in  meeting  him,  this  was  the  result !  She 


126 


put  away  the  gloves  mechanically  :  she  had  bought 
them  not  from  any  need,  but  simply  because  she 
had  felt  the  wish  to  go  out  and  do  something  when 
the  exciting  news  of  Ruth  Franklin's  engagement 
had  reached  her  at  noon.  Stirred  as  she  already 
was  by  her  own  private  experiment  of  the  pre 
vious  night,  the  thought  in  her  heart  was  :  "  Well,  it 
isn't  extravagance,  for  light  gloves  are  always  useful. 
And  then  in  case  of — of  anything  happening  to  me, 
they'd  be  all  ready." 

When  Anthony  Etheridge  left  her,  he  went  to 
L'llommedieu,  where  he  found  Dolly  in  the  parlor 
with  Petie  Trone,  Esq.  Trone's  basket  had  been 
established  by  Ruth  under  the  pedestal  which  now 
held  his  own  likeness.  For  Chase  had  kept  his 
word ;  Maud  Muriel's  clever  work  had  been  repro 
duced  in  bronze.  The  squirrel  also  was  present ;  he 
was  climbing  up  the  window  -  curtain.  "  So  you 
have  to  see  to  the  pets,  do  you  ?"  remarked  the  visit 
or  as  he  seated  himself.  He  had  known  of  the  en 
gagement  for  several  days ;  he  had  already  made 
what  he  called  "  the  proper  speeches  "  to  Mrs.  Frank 
lin  and  Ruth,  and  to  Chase  himself.  "  I  have  just 
seen  her — on  Kentucky  Belle,"  he  went  on.  "  Well, 
he  will  give  her  everything,  that's  one  certainty.  On 
the  whole,  she's  a  lucky  girl." 

"  It  is  Mr.  Chase  who  is  lucky,"  answered  Dolly, 
stiffly.  She  was  finishing  off  the  toe  of  a  stocking, 
and  did  not  look  up.  "  I  consider  Mr.  Chase  a  mi 
raculously  fortunate  man." 


127 


"  Miraculously  ?  How  do  you  mean  ?  Because 
she  is  young  ?  The  good-fortune,  as  regards  that, 
is  for  the  wife,  not  the  husband ;  for  she  will  always 
be  so  much  his  junior  that  he  will  have  to  consider 
her — lie  will  never  dare  to  neglect  her.  Well,  Dolly, 
all  Asheville  has  heard  the  news  this  morning;  the 
town  is  ringing  with  it.  And  it  is  such  an  amiable 
community  that  it  has  immediately  given  its  bene 
diction  in  the  most  optimistic  way.  Of  course, 
thouo-h,  there  are  some  who  maintain  that  she  is 

O      ' 

marrying  him  for  his  money." 

Dolly  knitted  more  rapidly. 

"  And  so  she  is,"  Etheridge  added.  "  Though 
not  in  their  sense,  for  she  has  never  reflected,  never 
thought  about  it,  never  made  a  plan.  All  the  same, 
it  is  his  wealth,  you  know,  which  has  fascinated 
her  —  his  wealth  and  his  liberality.  She  has  never 
seen  anything  like  it.  No  one  she  knows  has  ever 
done  such  things  —  flowers,  jewels,  journeys,  her 
brother  lifted  out  of  his  troubles  as  if  by  magic,  a 
future  sparkling  and  splendid  opening  before  her  ; 
no  wonder  she  is  dazzled.  In  addition,  she  herself 
has  an  ingrained  love  of  ease — " 

Dolly  dropped  her  stocking.  "  Do  you  think  I 
intend  to  sit  here  and  listen  to  you  ?"  she  demanded, 
with  flashing  eyes. 

"  Wait,  wait,"  answered  Etheridge,  putting  out  his 
hand  as  if  to  explain;  "you  don't  see  what  I  am 
driving  at,  Dolly.  As  Mrs.  Chase,  your  sister  will 
have  everything  she  wishes  for ;  all  her  tastes  and 


128 


fancies  gratified  to  the  full ;  and  that  is  no  small 
affair  !  Chase  will  be  fond  of  her  ;  in  addition,  he 
will  be  excessively  indulgent  to  her  in  every  way. 
With  her  nature  and  disposition,  her  training,  too 
(for  you  have  spoiled  her,  all  of  you),  it  is  really  an 
ideal  marriage  for  the  girl,  and  that  is  what  I  am 
trying  to  tell  you.  You  might  search  the  world 
over,  and  you  could  not  find  a  better  one." 

"  I  don't  like  it ;  I  never  shall  like  it,"  answered 
Dolly,  implacably.  "  And  mother  in  her  heart 
agrees  with  me,  though  she  has,  somehow,  a  higher 
idea  of  the  man  than  I  have.  As  for  Ruth — Ruth  is 
simply  swept  away — 

"  Exactly ;  swept  into  her  proper  sphere,"  in 
terrupted  Etheridge.  "  Don't  interfere  with  the 
process." 

"  She  doesn't  understand — "  Dolly  began. 

"  She  understands  immensely  well  what  she  likes ! 
Give  Ruth  indulgence,  amusement,  pleasure,  and  she 
will  be  kind-hearted,  amiable,  generous;  in  short, 
good  and  happy.  On  the  other  hand,  there  might 
be  another  story.  Come,  I  am  going  to  be  brutal; 
I  don't  know  how  much  money  your  mother  has;  but 
I.  suspect  very  little,  with  the  possibility,  perhaps,  of 
less.  And  I  can't  imagine,  Dolly,  any  one  more  un 
happy  than  your  sister  would  be,  ten  years  hence, 
say,  if  shut  up  here  in  Asheville,  poor,  her  good  looks 
gone,  to  face  a  life  of  dull  sameness  forever.  I  think 
it  would  kill  her !  She  is  not  at  ail  the  girl  to  ac 
cept  monotony  with  resignation  or  heroism  ;  to  settle 


129 


down  to  mending  and  reading,  book-clubs  and  whist- 
clubs,  puddings  and  embroidery,  gossip  and  good 
works." 

Here  the  house -door  opened;  Mrs.  Franklin  and 
Genevieve  came  in  together,  and  entered  the  par 
lor.  When  Dolly  heard  Genevievc's  step,  she  rose. 
Obliged  to  walk  slowly,  she  could  not  slip  out ;  but 
she  made  a  progress  which  was  almost  stately,  as, 
without  speaking  to  her  sister-in-law,  or  looking  at 
her,  she  left  the  room. 

Genevievre,  however,  required  no  notice  from  Dolly. 
Her  face  was  radiant  with  satisfaction.  She  shook 
hands  with  Etheridge  warmly.  "  I  have  not  seen 
you  since  it  happened,  commodore.  I  know  you  are 
with  us  in  our  pleasure  ?  I  know  you  congratulate 
us?" 

Etheridge  had  always  thought  the  younger  Mrs. 
Franklin  a  beautiful  woman ;  she  reminded  him  of 
the  Madonna  del  Granduca  at  Florence.  Now  she 
held  his  hand  so  long,  and  looked  at  him  with  such 
cordial  friendliness,  that  he  came  out  with  the  gallant 
exclamation,  "  Chase  is  the  one  I  congratulate,  by 
Jove  ! — on  getting  such  a  sister-in-law  !" 

"  Think  of  all  Ruth  will  now  be  able  to  do— all  the 
good !  I  seem  to  see  even  my  hospital,"  added  Gene 
vieve,  gayly. 

"  Hum — yes,"  added  Etheridge.  Walking  away 
a  step  or  two,  he  put  his  hands  in  the  pockets  of  his 
trousers  and  looked  towards  his  legs  reflectively  for  a 
moment,  as  though  surveying  the  pattern  of  the  gar- 


130 


ments — a  convenient  gesture  to  which  a  (slender)  man 
can  resort  when  he  wishes  to  cover  a  silence. 

"  For  dear  mamma,  too,  it  is  so  delightful,"  con 
tinued  Genevieve.  She  had  seated  herself,  and  she 
now  drew  her  mother-in-law  down  beside  her.  "  Ruth 
will  never  permit  mamma  to  have  another  care." 

"  Yes — I  think  I'll  just  run  up  and  take  off  my 
bonnet,"  said  Mrs.  Franklin,  disengaging  herself. 
And  she  left  the  room. 

Genevieve  was  not  disturbed  by  this  second  de 
parture  ;  she  was  never  disturbed  by  any  of  the  ac 
tions  or  the  speeches  of  her  husband's  family.  She 
did  her  own  duty  regarding  them  regularly  and 
steadily,  month  after  month  ;  it  was  part  of  her  rule 
of  conduct.  But  what  they  did  or  said  to  her  in  re 
turn  was  less  important.  "  Ruth  is  a  fortunate  girl," 
she  went  on,  as  she  drew  off  her  gloves  with  careful 
touches.  "And  she  appreciates  it,  commodore  —  I 
am  glad  to  tell  you  that ;  I  have  been  talking  to  her. 
She  is  very  happy.  Horace  is  such  an  able  and 
splendidly  successful  man — a  man  whom  every  one 
must  respect  and  admire  most  warmly." 

"  Yes,  a  clever  speculator  indeed  !"  commented 
Etheridge,  ungratefully,  throwing  over  his  drive  with 
the  bays. 

"Speculator?  Oh  no;  it  is  all  genuine  business; 
I  can  assure  you  of  that,"  answered  Genevieve,  seri 
ously.  "And  now  perhaps  you  can  help  us  a  little. 
Horace  is  anxious  to  have  the  marriage  take  place 
this  fall.  And  I  am  on  his  side.  For  why,  indeed, 


131 


should  they  wait?  The  usual  delays  are  prudential, 
or  for  the  purpose  of  making  preparations.  But  in 
this  case  there  are  no  such  conditions;  he  already 
has  a  house  in  New  York,  for  he  has  always  preferred 
home  life.  Ruth  is  willing  to  have  it  so.  But  mam 
ma  decidedly,  almost  obstinately,  opposes  it." 

"  Dolly  too,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  never  count  Dolly  ;  her  temper  is  so  uncer 
tain.  But  it  is  very  natural  that  it  should  be  so,  and 
one  always  excuses  her,  poor  dear  !  Couldn't  you 
say  a  word  or  two  to  mamma,  commodore  ?  You 
have  known  her  so  long ;  I  am  sure  you  have  influ 
ence.  But  my  chief  dependence,  of  course,  is  upon 
Jay.  Mamma  always  yields  to  Jay." 

"  Franklin,  then,  is  pleased  with  the  engagement?" 
said  Etheridge,  walking  about  the  room,  taking  up 
books,  looking  at  them  vaguely,  and  laying  them 
down  again. 

"  How  could  he  not  be  !  As  it  happens,  however, 
we  have  not  yet  heard  from  him,  for  when  our  letters 
reached  Charleston  he  had  just  started  for  New  York 
on  one  of  their  steamers  ;  some  business  errand.  But 
he  was  to  return  by  train,  and  I  am  expecting  to  hear 
from  him  to-morrow." 

There  was  a  sound  outside.  "  Here  they  come," 
said  Etheridge,  looking  out. 

Genevieve  rose  quickly  to  join  him  at  the  window. 
Chase  and  Malachi  Hill  were  dismounting.  Then 
Chase  lifted  Ruth  from  Kentucky  Belle.  "  Those  are 
two  new  horses,  you  know,"  explained  Genevieve,  in 


132 


a  low  tone  ;  "  Horric  sent  for  tlicra.  And  he  lets  Mr. 
Hill  ride  one  of  them  every  day." 

"  Yes ;  horses  enough  !"  grumbled  Etheridge,  dis 
contentedly. 

Ruth,  holding  up  the  skirt  of  her  habit,  was  coin 
ing  towards  the  house,  talking  to  her  two  escorts. 
When  she  entered  the  parlor,  Genevieve  went  for 
ward  and  put  her  arm  round  her.  "  I  know  you 
have  enjoyed  your  ride,  dear  ?" 

"Of  course  I  have.  How  do  you  do,  commodore  ? 
I  have  just  been  planning  another  excursion  with 
Horace."  (The  name  came  out  happily  and  securely.) 
"  To  Cesar's  Head  this  time ;  you  to  drive  the  four- 
in-hand,  and  I  to  ride  Kentucky  Belle." 

"  Yes,  that's  right ;  arrange  it  with  him,"  said 
Chase.  "  For  I  must  go ;  I  have  letters  to  write 
which  can  be  postponed  no  longer.  You  have  had 
enough  of  me  for  to-day,  I  guess  ?  May  I  come  in 
to-morrow  afternoon — early  ?" 

"  Come  to  lunch,"  said  Ruth,  giving  him  her  hand. 
He  held  it  out  for  a  moment,  looking  at  her  with 
kindly  eyes.  "  You  don't  know  how  much  I  enjoyed 
my  ride,"  said  the  girl,  heartily.  "  It  is  such  a  joy 
to  be  on  Kentucky  Belle ;  she  is  so  beautiful,  and 
she  moves  so  lightly  !  It  was  the  nicest  ride  I  have 
ever  had  in  my  life  !" 

This  seemed  to  please  Chase.  He  took  leave  of 
the  others  and  went  away. 

"  I  will  wait  here,  if  you  will  allow  it,  Miss  Ruth, 
until  he  is  out  of  sight,"  said  Malachi  Hill.  »  For  I 


133 


may  as  well  confess  to  you — I  have  already  told  Miss 
Dolly — that  I  seem  fairly  to  lose  my  head  when  I 
find  myself  with  Mr.  Chase  alone  !  I  am  so  haunted 
by  the  idea  of  all  he  could  do  for  the  Church  in  these 
mountains  that  in  spite  of  the  generous  gifts  he  has 
already  made,  I  keep  hankering  after  more — like  a 
regular  gorilla  of  covetousness  !" 

"  I  shall  have  to  see  that  he  is  never  left  alone  with 
you,"  said  Ruth,  laughing. 

"  There  !  he  has  turned  the  corner.  Now  Pll  go 
the  other  way,"  continued  the  missionary,  his  serious 
ness  unbroken. 

"  Mr.  Hill  is  such  a  good  man,"  remarked  Gene- 
vieve  as  she  closed  the  window. 

"  Miss  Billy  thinks  him  full  of  the  darkest  evil," 
commented  Ruth.  "Why  do  you  shut  the  window?" 

"  You  were  in  a  draught.  After  your  ride  you 
must  be  warm." 

"I'm  a  precious  object,  am  I  ?" 

"  Yes,  dear,  you  certainly  are,"  replied  Genevieve, 
with  all  the  seriousness  of  Malachi  Hill. 

"  If  that  simpleton  of  a  Billy  could  see  the  parson 
eat  apples,  she  would  change  her  opinion  about  him," 
remarked  Etheridge.  "  A  man  who  can  devour  with 
relish  four,  five,  and  even  six,  cold  raw  apples  (and 
the  Asheville  apples  are  sixteen  inches  round)  late 
in  the  evening,  cores,  seeds,  and  all,  must  be  virt 
uous — as  virtuous  as  mutton !"  He  was  looking  at 
Ruth  as  he  spoke.  The  girl  was  leaning  back  in  an 
easy-chair;  Petie  Trone,  Esq.,  had  lost  no  time,  he 


134 


was  already  established  in  her  lap,  and  the  squirrel 
had  flown  to  her  shoulder.  She  had  taken  off  her 
gauntlets,  and  as  she  lifted  her  hands  to  remove  her 
hat,  he  saw  a  flash.  "  Trinkets?"  he  said. 

"  Oh — you  haven't  seen  it  ?"  She  drew  off  a  ring 
and  tossed  it  across  to  him. 

"  Take  care  !"  said  Genevieve. 

But  Etheridge  had  already  caught  it.  It  was  a 
solitaire  diamond  ring,  the  stone  of  splendid  beauty, 
large,  pure,  brilliant. 

"  It  came  yesterday,"  Genevieve  explained.  Then 
she  folded  her  hands — this  with  Genevieve  was  al 
ways  a  deliberate  motion.  "  There  will  be  dia 
monds — yes.  But  there  will  be  other  things  also ; 
surely  our  dear  Ruth  will  remember  the  duties  of 
wealth  as  well  as  its  pleasures." 

Ruth  paid  no  heed  to  this ;  put  on  her  ring  again, 
using  the  philopena  circlet  as  a  guard ;  then  she  said, 
"  Petie  Trone,  Esq.,  there  will  be  just  time  before 
dinner  for  your  Saturday  scrubbing." 

Half  an  hour  later  when  she  returned,  the  little 
dog  trotting  behind  her,  his  small  body  pinned  up  in 
a  hot  towel,  Genevieve  cried  in  alarm,  "Where  are 
your  rings  ?" 

"Oh,"  said  Ruth,  looking  at  her  hands,  "I  didn't 
miss  them ;  they  must  have  come  off  in  the  tub. 
Since  then  I  have  been  in  my  room,  dressing." 

"  And  Rinda  may  have  thrown  away  the  water !" 
exclaimed  her  sister-in-law,  rushing  up  the  stairs  in 
breathless  haste. 


135 


But  Rinda  was  never  in  a  hurry  to  perform  any  of 
her  duties,  and  the  wooden  tub  devoted  to  Mr.  Trone 
still  stood  in  its  place.  Genevieve,  baring  her  white 
arms,  plunged  both  her  hands  into  the  water,  her 
heart  beating  with  anxiety.  But  the  rings,  very 
soapy,  were  there. 

That  evening,  at  nine  o'clock,  Mrs.  Franklin  was 
galloping  through  the  latest  tale  of  Anthony  Trollope. 
For  she  always  read  a  novel  with  racing  speed  to  get 
at  the  story,  skipping  every  description  ;  then,  if  she 
had  been  interested,  she  went  back  and  reperused  it 
in  more  leisurely  fashion.  It  was  unusual  to  have  a 
book  fresh  from  the  press  ;  the  well-fingered  volumes 
which  Miss  Billy  borrowed  for  her  so  industriously 
were  generally  two  or  three  years  old.  Horace 
Chase,  learning  from  Ruth  the  mother's  liking  for 
novels,  had  sent  a  note  to  New  York,  ordering  in  his 
large  way  "  all  the  latest  articles  in  fiction ;"  a  pack 
age  to  be  sent  to  L'Hommedieu  once  a  month.  The 
first  parcel  had  just  arrived,  and  Mrs.  Franklin, 
opening  it,  much  surprised,  had  surveyed  the  gift 
with  mixed  feelings.  She  was  alone  ;  Dolly  was  up 
stairs.  Ruth,  seized  with  a  sudden  fancy  for  a  glass 
of  cream,  had  gone,  with  Rinda  as  protector,  to  a 
house  at  some  distance,  where  cream  was  sold  ;  for 
with  Ruth  fancies  were  so  vivid  that  it  always  seemed 
to  her  absolutely  necessary  to  follow  them  instantly. 
The  mother  turned  over  the  volumes.  "  It  doesn't 
make  me  like  him  a  bit  better !"  she  said  to  herself. 
But  her  easy-chair  was  comfortable  ;  the  reading- 


136 


lamp  was  burning  brightly  at  her  elbow.  For  four 
teen  years  novels  had  been  her  opiates  ;  she  put  on 
her  glasses,  took  up  the  Trollope,  and  began.  She 
had  not  been  reading  long,  when  her  attention  sud 
denly  jumped  back  to  the  present,  owing  to  a  sound 
outside.  For  the  window  was  open,  somebody  was 
coming  up  the  path  from  the  gate,  and  she  recog 
nized — yes,  she  recognized  the  step.  Letting  the 
book  drop,  she  ran  to  the  house -door.  "Jared! 
Why — how  did  you  get  here  ?  The  stage  came  in 
long  ago." 

"  I  drove  over  from  Old  Fort,"  answered  her  son 
as  he  entered. 

"  And  you  did  not  find  Genevieve  ?  She  has  gone 
with  Mr.  Hill  to—" 

"  I  haven't  been  to  the  Cottage  yet ;  I  came  di 
rectly  here.  Where  is  Ruth  ?" 

"  Out.  But  she  will  be  in  soon.  Dolly  isn't  well 
to-night ;  she  has  gone  to  bed." 

"  The  coast  is  clear,  then,  and  we  can  talk,"  said 
Jared.  "  So  much  the  better,"  They  were  now  in 
the  parlor ;  before  seating  himself  he  closed  the 
door.  "  I  have  come  up,  mother,  about  this  affair  of 
Ruth's.  As  soon  as  I  got  back  to  Charleston  and 
read  your  letters,  I  started  at  once.'  You  have  been 
careless,  I  fear ;  but  at  least  I  hope  that  nothing  has 
been  said,  that  no  one  knows  ?" 

"  Everybody  knows,  Jared.  At  least,  everybody 
in  Asheville." 

"  Who  has  told  ?     Chase  ?"    asked  Jared,  angrily. 


137 


"  Oh  no  ;  he  left  that  to  us.  I  have  said  nothing, 
and  Dolly  has  said  nothing.  But — but — " 

"  But  what  ?" 

"  Genevieve  has  announced  it  everywhere,"  an 
swered  Mrs.  Franklin,  her  inward  feeling  against  her 
daughter-in-law  for  once  getting  the  better  of  her. 

"  I  will  speak  to  Genevieve.  But  she  is  not  the 
one  most  in  fault,  mother;  she  could  not  have  an 
nounced  it  unless  you  had  given  your  consent.  And 
how  came  you  to  do  that  ?" 

"  I  don't  think  I  have  consented.  I  have  been 
waiting  for  you." 

"  Very  well,  then  ;  we  can  act  together.  Now  that 
/  have  come,  Horace  Chase  will  find  that  there's 
some  one  on  hand  to  look  after  you ;  he  will  no 
longer  be  able  to  do  as  he  pleases !" 

"  Our  difficulty  is,  Jared,  that  it  is  not  so  much  a 
question  of  his  doing  as  he  pleases  as  it  is  of  Ruth's 
doing  as  she  pleases  ;  she  thinks  it  is  all  enchanting  ; 
and  she  is  headstrong,  you  know." 

"Yes.  That  is  the  very  reason  why  I  think  you 
have  been  careless,  mother.  You  were  here  and  I 
was  not ;  you,  therefore,  were  the  one  to  act.  You 
should  have  taken  Ruth  out  of  town  at  once ;  you 
should  have  taken  her  north,  if  necessary,  and  kept 
her  there  ;  you  should  have  done  this  at  any  sacrifice." 

"  It  is  not  so  easy — "  began  his  mother.  Then 
she  stopped.  For  she  was  living  on  credit ;  she 
owed  money  everywhere,  and  there  were  still  ten 
days  to  elapse  before  any  remittances  could  reach 


138 


her.  But  she  would  have  borne  anything,  and  re 
sorted  to  everything,  rather  than  let  Jared  know  this. 
"  It  took  me  so  completely  by  surprise,"  she  said, 
beginning  again.  "  I  am  sure  that  you  yourself  had 
no  suspicion  of  any  such  possibility  when  we  took  \ 
that  French  Broad  drive  ?" 

"  No,  I  had  not.  And  it  enrages  me  to  think  how 
blind  I  was !  He  was  laying  his  plans  even  then  ; 
the  whole  trip,  and  all  those  costly  things  he  did — 
that  was  simply  part  of  it."  And  leaving  his  chair, 
the  brother  walked  up  and  down  the  room,  his  face 
darkly  flushed  with  anger.  "  Ruth — a  child  !  And 
he — thirty  years  older  !" 

"  Not  that,  dear.  He  is  thirty-eight ;  and  she  was 
nineteen  last  week." 

"  He  looks  much  more  than  thirty-eight.  But  that 
isn't  the  point.  You  don't  seem  to  see,  mother,  what 
makes  it  so  insufferable  ;  he  has  bribed  her  about 
me,  bribed  her  with  that  place  in  Charleston ;  that's 
the  whole  story !  She  is  so  happy  about  that,  that 
she  forgets  all  else." 

"  I  don't  like  the  idea  of  an  engagement  between 
them  any  better  than  you  do,  Jared.  But  I  ought  to 
say  two  things.  One  is,  that  I  don't  believe  he  made 
any  plot  as  to  the  Charleston  place  ;  I  think  he  likes 
to  help  people — " 

"  Yes,  our  family  !"  interrupted  the  son,  hotly. 
"  No,  mother,  you  don't  understand  him  in  the  least. 
Horace  Chase  is  purely  a  business  man,  a  long 
headed,  driving,  money-making  fellow  ;  all  his  am- 


139 


bition  (and  he  has  plenty  of  it)  is  along  that  one 
line.  It's  the  only  line,  in  fact,  which  he  thinks  im 
portant.  But  the  idea  of  his  being  a  philanthropist 
would  make  any  one  who  has  ever  had  business 
dealings  with  him  laugh  for  a  week !" 

"  Well,  have  that  as  you  like.  But  even  if  he 
first  gave  you  the  place  on  Ruth's  account  (for  he 
has  fallen  very  much  in  love  with  her,  there  is  no 
doubt  of  that),  I  don't  see  that  he  has  any  need  to 
be  a  benefactor  in  keeping  you  there.  They  are  no 
doubt  delighted  to  have  you  ;  he  says  so  himself,  in 
fact.  A  navy  officer,  a  gentleman — they  may  well 
be  !"  added  Mrs.  Franklin,  looking  for  the  moment 
very  much  like  her  father,  old  Major  Seymour,  with 
his  aristocratic  notions. 

"Why,  mother,  don't  you  know  that  people  with 
that  brutal  amount  of  money — Chaise  and  the  Wil- 
loughbys,  for  instance — don't  you  know  that  they 
look  upon  the  salaries  of  army  and  navy  officers 
simply  as  genteel  poverty?"  said  Jared,  forgetting 
for  the  moment  his  anger  in  amusement  over  her 
old-fashioned  mistake. 

But  he  could  not  have  made  Mrs.  Franklin  believe 
this  in  ten  years  of  repetition,  much  less  in  ten  min 
utes.  "  And  the  other  thing  I  had  to  say,"  she  went 
on,  "  is  that  I  don't  think  Ruth  is  marrying  him  on 
your  account  solely." 

"  Oh  yes,  she  is,  though  she  may  not  be  conscious 
of  it.  But  when  I  have  given  up  the  Charleston 
place,  which  I  shall  do  to-morrow,  then  she  will  be 


140 


free  again.  The  moment  she  sees  that  she  can  do 
me  no  good,  all  will  look  different  to  her.  I'd  rather 
do  anything — sell  the  Cottage,  and  live  on  a  crust 
all  the  rest  of  my  days — than  have  a  sister  of  mine 
help  me  along  in  that  way  !" 

His  mother  watched  him  as  he  paced  to  and  fro. 
He  looked  ill ;  there  were  hollows  at  his  temples  and 
dark  circles  under  his  eyes ;  his  tall  figure  had  begun 
to  stoop.  He  was  the  dearest  of  all  her  children  ; 
his  incurable,  unspoken  regrets,  his  broken  life,  were 
like  a  dagger  in  her  heart  at  all  times.  He  would 
give  up  his  place,  and  then  he  would  have  nothing ; 
and  she,  his  mother,  could  not  help  him  with  a  penny. 
He  would  give  up  his  place  and  sell  the  Cottage,  and 
then — Genevieve  !  It  all  came  back  to  that ;  it  would 
always  come  back  to  that — Genevieve!  She  swal 
lowed  hard  to  keep  down  the  sob  in  her  throat.  "  He 
is  very  much  in  love  with  her,"  she  repeated,  vague 
ly,  in  order  to  say  something. 

"  Who  cares  if  he  is  !  I  almost  begin  to  think 
you  like  it,  after  all  ?" 

"  No,  dear,  no ;  neither  Dolly  nor  I  like  it  in  the 
least.  But  Ruth  is  not  easy  to  manage.  And  Gene 
vieve  was  sure  that  you — " 

"  This  is  not  Genevieve's  affair.  It  is  mine !" 
thundered  Jared. 

His  mother  jumped  up,  ran  to  him,  and  gave  him 
a  kiss.  For  the  moment  she  forgot  his  illness,  his  un 
certain  future,  her  own  debts,  all  her  troubles,  in  the 
joy  of  hearing  him  at  last  assert  his  will  against  that 


141 


of  his  wife.  But  it  was  only  for  a  moment;  she  knew 
— knew  far  better  than  he  did  —  that  the  even-tem 
pered  feminine  pertinacity  would  always  in  the  end 
have  its  way.  Jared,  impulsive,  generous,  affection 
ate,  was  no  match  for  Genevieve.  In  a  contest  of 
this  sort  it  is  the  nobler  nature,  always,  that  yields ; 
the  self-satisfied,  limited  mind  has  an  obstinacy  that 
never  gives  way.  She  leaned  her  head  against  her 
son's  breast,  and  all  the  bitterness  of  his  marriage 
came  over  her  afresh  like  a  flood. 

"  Why,  mother,  what  is  it  ?"  asked  Jared,  feeling 
her  tremble.  He  put  his  arm  round  her,  and 
smoothed  her  hair  tenderly.  "  Tell  me  what  it  is 
that  troubles  you  so  ?" 

The  gate  swung  to.  Mrs.  Franklin  lifted  her 
head.  "  Ruth  is  coming,"  she  whispered.  "  Say 
what  you  like  to  her.  But.  under  all  circumstances, 
remember  to  be  kind.  I  will  come  back  presently." 
She  hurried  out. 

Rinda  and  Ruth  entered.  Rinda  went  to  the 
kitchen,  and  Ruth,  after  taking  off  her  hat,  came  into 
the  parlor,  carrying  her  glass  of  cream.  "Jared!" 
She  put  down  the  glass  on  the  table,  and  threw  her 
arms  round  her  brother's  neck.  "  Oh,  I  am  so  glad 
you  have  come  !" 

"  Sit  down.  Here,  by  me.  I  wish  to  speak  to 
you,  Ruth." 

«  Yes — about  my  engagement.  It's  very  good  of 
you  to  come  so  soon  ;"  and  she  put  her  hand  through 
his  arm  in  her  old  affectionate  way. 


142 


"  I  do  not  call  it  an  engagement  when  you  have 
neither  your  mother's  consent  nor  mine,"  answered 
her  brother.  "  Whatever  it  is,  however,  you  must 
make  an  end  of  it." 

"An  end  of  it?     Why?" 

"  Because  we  all  dislike  the  idea.  You  are  too 
young  to  comprehend  what  you  are  doing." 

"  I  am  nineteen  ;  that  is  not  so  very  young.  I  com 
prehend  that  I  am  going  to  be  happy.  And  I  love  to 
be  happy !  I  have  never  seen  any  one  half  so  kind 
as  Mr.  Chase.  If  there  is  anything  I  want  to  do,  he 
arranges  it.  He  doesn't  wait,  and  hesitate,  and  con 
sider  ;  he  does  it.  He  thinks  of  everything  ;  it  is  per 
fectly  beautiful !  Why,  Jared — what  he  did  for  you, 
wasn't  that  kind  ?" 

"  Exactly.     That  is  what  he  has  bribed  you  with !" 

"  Bribed  ?"  repeated  Ruth,  surprised,  as  she  saw 
the  indignation  in  his  eyes.  Then  comprehending 
what  he  meant,  she  laughed,  coloring  a  little  also. 
"  But  I  am  not  marrying  him  on  your  account ;  I  am 
marrying  him  on  my  own.  I  am  marrying  because 
I  like  it,  because  I  want  to.  You  don't  believe  it? 
Why  —  look  at  me."  She  rose  and  stood  before 
him.  "I  am  the  happiest  girl  in  the  world  as  I  stand 
here  !  I  should  think  you  could  see  it  for  your 
self  ?"  And  in  truth  her  face  was  radiant.  "  If  I 
have  ever  had  any  dreams  of  what  I  should  like  my 
life  to  be  (and  I  have  had  plenty),  they  have  all  come 
true,"  she  went  on,  with  her  hands  behind  her,  look 
ing  at  him  reflectively.  "  Think  of  all  I  shall  have  ! 


143 


And  of  where  I  can  go !     And  of   what  I  can  do  ! 
Why— there's  no  end  of  it  !" 

"  That  is  not  the  way  to  talk  of  marriage." 

"  How  one  talks  of  it  is  not  important.  The  im 
portant  point  is  to  be  happy  in  it,  and  that  I  shall  be 
to  the  full — yes,  to  the  full.  His  Grand  shall  have 
whatever  she  likes;  and  Dolly  too.  First  of  all, 
Dolly  shall  have  a  phaeton,  so  that  she  can  drive  to 
the  woods  every  day.  The  house  shall  be  put  in 
order  from  top  to  bottom.  And — oh,  everything !" 

"  Is  that  the  way  you  talk  to  him  ?" 

But  the  sarcasm  fell  to  the  ground.  "Precisely. 
AVord  for  word,"  answered  Ruth,  lightly.  And  he 
saw  that  she  spoke  the  truth. 

"  He  is  much  too  old  for  you.  If  there  were  no 
other—" 

But  Ruth  interrupted  him  with  a  sort  of  sweet  ob 
stinacy.  "  That  is  for  me  to  judge,  isn't  it  ?" 

"  He  is  not  at  all  the  person  you  fancy  he  is." 

"  I  don't  care  what  he  is  generally,  what  he  is  to 
other  people ;  all  I  care  for  is  what  he  is  to  me. 
And  about  that  you  know  nothing ;  I  am  the  one  to 
know.  He  is  nicer  to  me,  and  he  always  will  be 
nicer,  than  Genevieve  has  ever  been  to  you  /"  And 
turning,  the  girl  walked  across  the  room. 

"  If  I  have  been  unhappy,  that  is  the  very  reason  I 
don't  want  you  to  be,"  answered  her  brother,  after  a 
moment's  pause. 

His  tone  touched  her.  She  ran  back  to  him,  and 
seated  herself  on  his  knee,  with  her  cheek  against  his. 


144 


"  I  didn't  mean  it,  dear ;  forgive  me,"  she  whispered, 
softly.  "  But  please  don't  be  cross.  You  are  angry 
because  you  believe  I  am  marrying  to  help  you.  But 
you  are  mistaken  ;  I  am  marrying  for  myself.  You 
might  be  back  in  the  navy,  and  mother  and  Dolly 
might  have  more  money,  and  I  should  still  marry 
him.  It  would  be  because  I  want  to,  because  I  like 
him.  If  you  had  anything  to  say  against  him  per 
sonally,  it  would  be  different,  but  you  haven't.  He 
is  waiting  to  tell  you  about  himself,  to  introduce  you 
to  his  family  (he  has  only  sisters),  and  to  his  part 
ners,  the  Willoughbys.  Your  only  objections  ap 
pear  to  be  that  I  am  marrying  him  on  your  account, 
and  I  have  told  you  that  I  am  not ;  and  that  he  is 
older  than  I  am,  and  that  I  like ;  and  that  he  has 
money,  while  we  are  poor.  But  he  gets  some 
thing  in  getting  me,"  she  added,  in  a  lighter  tone, 
as  she  raised  her  head  and  looked  at  him  gaylv. 
"  Wait  till  you  see  how  pretty  I  shall  be  in  fine 
clothes." 

The  door  opened,  and  Mrs.  Franklin  came  in. 

Ruth  rose.  "  Here  is  mother.  Now  I  must  say 
the  whole.  Listen,  mother ;  and  you  too,  Jared.  I 
intend  to  marry  Horace  Chase.  If  not  with  your 
consent,  then  without  it.  If  you  will  not  let  me  be 
married  at  home,  then  I  shall  walk  out  of  the  house, 
go  to  Horace,  and  the  first  clergyman  or  minister  he 
can  find  shall  marry  us.  There  !  I  have  said  it.  Bat 
why  should  you  treat  me  so?  Don't  make  me  so 
dreadfully  unhappy." 


She  had  spoken  wilfully,  determinedly.  But  now 
she  was  pleading  —  though  it  was  pleading  to  have 
her  own  way.  Into  her  beautiful  eyes  came  two  big 
tears  as  she  gazed  at  them.  Neither  Mrs.  Franklin 
nor  Jared  could  withstand  those  drops. 
10 


CHAPTER   VII 

THE  wedding  was  over.  Pretty  little  Trinity 
Church  was  left  alone  with  its  decorations  of  flowers 
and  vines,  the  work  of  Miss  Billy  Breeze.  Miss 
Billy,  much  excited,  was  now  standing  beside  Ruth 
in  the  parlor  at  L'Hommedieu ;  for  Miss  Billy  and 
Maud  Muriel  were  the  bridesmaids.  Maud  Muriel 
had  consented  with  solemnity.  "  It  is  strange  that 
such  a  man  as  Horace  Chase,  a  man  of  sense  and  im 
portance,  should  be  taken  with  a  child  like  Ruth 
Franklin,"  she  confided  to  Miss  Billy.  "  However,  I 
won't  desert  him  at  such  a  moment.  I'll  stand  by 
him."  She  was  in  reality  not  so  much  bridesmaid 
as  groomsman. 

L'Hommedieu  was  decked  with  flowers.  It  was  a 
warm  autumn  day,  the  windows  and  doors  were  open. 
All  Asheville  was  in  attendance,  if  not  in  the  house 
and  on  the  verandas,  then  gazing  over  the  fence,  and 
waiting  outside  the  gate.  For  there  were  many 
things  to  engage  its  attention.  First,  there  was 
Mrs.  Franklin,  looking  very  distinguished;  then 
Genevieve,  the  most  beautiful  woman  present.  Then 
there  was  Bishop  Carew,  who  had  come  from  Wil 
mington  to  officiate.  All  Asheville  admired  the 
bishop  —  the  handsome,  kindly,  noble  old  man,  full 


147 


of  dignity,  full  of  sweetness  as  well ;  they  were 
proud  that  he  had  come  to  "their"  wedding.  For 
that  was  the  way  they  thought  of  it.  Even  the 
negroes — those  who  had  flocked  to  old  Daniel's  race 
— had  a  sense  of  ownership  in  the  affair. 

A  third  point  of  interest  was  the  general  surprise 
over  Maud.  As  Ruth  had  selected  the  costumes  of 
her  bridesmaids,  Miss  Mackintosh  was  attired  for  the 
first  time  in  her  life  in  ample  soft  draperies.  Her 
hair,  too,  arranged  by  Miss  Billy,  had  no  longer  the 
look  of  the  penitentiary,  and  the  result  was  that  (to 
the  amazement  of  the  town)  the  sculptress  was  al 
most  handsome. 

Anthony  Etheridge,  much  struck  by  this  (and 
haunted  by  his  old  idea),  pressed  upon  her  a  glass  of 
punch. 

"  Take  it,"  he  urged,  in  a  low  tone,  "take  two  or 
three.  Then,  as  soon  as  this  is  over,  hurry  to  your 
studio  and  let  yourself  go.  You'll  do  wonders  !" 

Two  of  Chase's  partners  were  present,  Nicholas 
Willoughby,  a  quiet-looking  man  of  fifty-eight,  and 
his  nephew  Walter  of  the  same  name ;  Walter  was 
acting  as  "  best  man."  The  elder  Willoughby  had 
made  use  of  the  occasion  to  take  a  general  look  at 
this  mountain  country,  with  reference  to  Chase's 
ideas  concerning  it,  in  order  to  make  a  report  to  his 
brother  Richard.  For  Nicholas  and  Richard  were 
millionaires  many  times  over ;  their  business  in  life 
was  investment.  Asheville  itself,  meanwhile,  hardly 
comprehended  the  importance  of  such  an  event  as 


148 


the  presence  within  its  borders  of  a  New  York  cap 
italist  ;  it  knew  very  little  about  New  York,  still  less 
about  capitalists.  Mrs.  Franklin,  however,  possessed 
a  wider  knowledge ;  she  understood  what  was  repre 
sented  by  the  name  of  Willoughby.  And  it  had 
solaced  her  unspeakably  also  to  note  that  the  uncle 
had  a  genuine  liking  for  her  future  son-in-law.  "  They 
have  a  real  regard  for  him,"  she  said  to  her  son,  in 
private.  "  And  I  myself  like  him  rather  better  than 
I  once  thought  I  should." 

Jared  had  come  from  Charleston  on  the  preceding 
day.  "  Oh,  that's  far  too  guarded,  mother,"  he  an 
swered.  "  The  only  way  for  us  now  is  to  like  Hor 
ace  Chase  with  enthusiasm,  to  cling  to  him  with  the 
deepest  affection.  We  must  admire  unflinchingly 
everything  he  says  and  everything  he  does — swallow 
him  whole,  as  it  were ;  it  isn't  difficult  to  swallow 
things  ivliole !  Just  watch  me."  And,  in  truth,  it 
was  Jared's  jocularity  that  enlivened  the  reception, 
and  made  it  so  gay ;  it  reached  even  Dolly,  who  (to 
aid  him)  became  herself  a  veritable  Catherine-wheel 
of  jokes,  so  that  every  one  noticed  how  happy  all 
the  Franklins  were — how  delighted  with  the  marriage. 

Chase  himself  appeared  well.  His  rather  ordinary 
face  was  lighted  by  an  expression  of  deep  inward 
happiness  which  was  touching ;  its  set  lines  were  re 
laxed;  his  eyes,  which  were  usually  too  keen,  had  a 
softness  that  was  new  to  them.  He  was  very  silent ; 
he  let  his  best  man  talk  for  him.  Walter  Willough 
by  performed  this  part  admirably;  standing  beside 


149 


the  bridegroom,  he  "  supported  "  him  gayly  through 
the  two  hours  which  were  given  up  to  the  outside 
friends. 

Ruth  looked  happy,  but  not  particularly  pretty. 
The  excitement  had  given  her  a  deep  flush  ;  even 
her  throat  was  red. 

At  three  o'clock  Peter  and  Piper  were  brought 
round  to  the  door ;  Chase  was  to  drive  his  wife  over 
the  mountains,  through  the  magnificent  forest,  now 
gorgeous  with  the  tints  of  autumn,  and  at  Old  Fort 
a  special  train  was  waiting  to  take  them  eastward. 

A  few  more  minutes  and  then  they  were  gone. 
There  was  nothing  left  but  the  scattered  rice  on  the 
ground,  and  Petie  Trone,  Esq.,  barking  his  little  heart 
out  at  the  gate. 


CHAPTEE    VIII 

EARLY  on  a  moonlit  evening  in  January,  1875, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Horace  Chase  were  approaching  St.  Au 
gustine.  They  had  come  by  steamer  up  the  broad 
St.  Johns,  the  beautiful  river  of  Florida,  to  the  lone 
ly  little  landing  called  Tocoi ;  here  they  had  intrust 
ed  themselves  to  the  Atlantic  Ocean  Railroad.  This 
railroad  undertook  to  convey  travellers  across  the 
peninsula  to  the  sea-coast,  fifteen  miles  distant ;  and 
the  promise  was  kept.  But  it  was  kept  in  a  manner 
so  leisurely  that  more  than  once  Horace  Chase  had 
risen  and  walked  to  and  fro,  as  though,  somehow, 
that  would  serve  to  increase  the  speed.  The  rolling- 
stock  possessed  by  the  Atlantic  Ocean  Railroad  at 
that  date  consisted  of  two  small  street-cars,  one  for 
passengers,  one  for  luggage ;  Chase's  promenade, 
therefore,  confined  as  it  was  to  the  first  car,  had  a 
range  of  about  four  steps.  "  I'm  ridiculously  fidgety, 
and  that's  a  fact,"  he  said  to  his  wife,  laughing  at 
himself.  "I  can  be  lazy  enough  in  a  Pullman,  for 
then  I  can  either  read  the  papers  or  go  to  sleep. 
But  down  here  there  are  no  papers  to  read.  And 
who  can  sleep  in  this  jolting  ?  I  believe  I'll  ask  that 
darky  to  let  me  drive  the  mules !" 

"  Do,"  said  Ruth.  "  Then  I  can  be  out  there  with 
you  on  the  front  platform." 


J51 


As  there  were  no  other  passengers  (save  Petie 
Tronc,  Esq.,  asleep  in  his  travelling  basket),  Abram, 
the  negro  driver,  gave  up  the  reins  with  a  grin. 
Taking  his  station  on  the  step,  he  then  admonished 
the  volunteer  from  time  to  time  as  follows :  "  Dish 
yere's  a  bad  bit ;  take  keer,  boss."  "  Jess  ahead  de 
rail  am  splayed  out  on  de  lef .  Yank  'em  hard  to 
de  right,  or  we'll  sut'ny  run  off  de  track.  We  gin- 
erally  do  run  off  de  track  'bout  yere."  On  each  side 
was  a  dense  forest  veiled  in  the  gray  long  moss. 
Could  that  be  snow  between  the  two  black  lines  of 
track  ahead  ?  No  snow,  however,  was  possible  in 
this  warm  atmosphere ;  it  was  but  the  spectral  effect 
of  the  moonlight,  blanching  to  an  even  paler  white 
ness  the  silvery  sand  which  formed  the  road-bed  be 
tween  the  rails.  This  sand  covered  the  sleepers  to 
such  a  depth  that  the  mules  could  not  step  quickly ; 
there  was  always  a  pailful  of  it  on  each  foot  to  lift 
and  throw  off.  They  moved  on,  therefore,  in  a  slug 
gish  trot,  the  cow-bells  attached  to  their  collars  keep 
ing  up  a  regular  tink-tank,  tink-tank. 

The  tableau  of  her  husband  driving  these  spirited 
steeds  struck  Ruth  as  comical.  She  was  seated  on 
a  camp-stool  by  his  side,  and  presently  she  broke  into 
a  laugh.  "  Oh,  you  do  look  so  funny,  Horace  !  If 
you  could  only  see  yourself  !  You,  so  particular  about 
horses  that  you  won't  drive  anything  that  is  not  ab 
solutely  perfect,  there  you  stand  taking  the  greatest 
pains,  and  watching  solemnly  every  quiver  of  the  ear 
of  those  old  mules  !" 


152 


They  were  alone,  Abram  having  gone  to  the  bag 
gage-car  to  get  his  tin  horn.  "  Come,  now,  are  you 
never  going  to  stop  making  fun  of  me  ?"  inquired 
Chase.  "  How  do  you  expect  to  hit  St.  Augustine 
to-night  if  this  fast  express  runs  off  the  track  ?"  But 
in  spite  of  his  protest,  it  was  easy  to  see  that  he  liked 
to  hear  her  laugh. 

Abram,  coming  back,  put  the  horn  to  his  lips  and 
blew  a  resounding  blast ;  and  presently,  round  a 
curve,  the  half-way  station  came  into  view — namely, 
a  hut  of  palmetto  boughs  on  the  barren,  with  a  bon 
fire  before  it.  The  negro  station-men,  beguiling  their 
evening  leisure  by  dancing  on  the  track  to  their  own 
singing  and  the  music  of  a  banjo,  did  not  think  it 
necessary  to  stop  their  gyrations  until  the  heads  of 
the  mules  actually  touched  their  shoulders.  Even 
then  they  made  no  haste  in  bringing  out  the  fresh 
team  which  was  to  serve  as  motive  power  to  St.  Au 
gustine,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Chase,  leaving  the  car, 
strolled  up  and  down  near  by.  The  veiled  forest  had 
been  left  behind ;  the  rest  of  the  way  lay  over  the 
open  pine -barrens.  The  leaping  bonfire,  the  sing 
ing  negroes,  and  the  little  train  on  its  elevated  snow- 
like  track  contrasted  with  the  wild,  lonely,  silent, 
tree-dotted  plain,  stretching  away  limitlessly  in  the 
moonlight  on  all  sides. 

"  Perhaps  Petie  Trone,  Esq.,  would  like  to  take  a 
run,"  said  Ruth.  Hastening  into  the  car  with  her  usual 
heedlessness,  she  tripped  and  nearly  fell,  Chase,  who 
had  followed,  catching  her  arm  just  in  time  to  save  her. 


153 


"  Some  of  these  days,  Ruthie,  you  will  break  your 
neck.  Why  are  you  always  in  such  a  desperate 
hurry  I" 

"  Talk  about  hurry  !"  answered  Ruth,  as  she  un 
strapped  the  basket  and  woke  the  lazy  Mr.  Trone. 
"  Who  saw  the  whole  of  Switzerland  in  five  days  ? 
and  found  it  slow  at  that?"  And  then  they  both 
laughed. 

Alter  a  stretch,  Petie  Trone  decided  to  make  a 
foray  over  the  barren ;  his  little  black  figure  was 
soon  out  of  sight.  "  Horace,  now  that  we  are  here, 
I  wish  you  would  promise  to  stay.  Can't  we  stay  at 
least  until  the  middle  of  March  ?  It's  lovely  in  Flor 
ida  in  the  winter,"  Ruth  declared,  as  they  resumed 
their  walk. 

"  Well,  I'll  stay  as  long  as  I  can.  But  I  must  go 
to  California  on  business  between  this  and  spring," 
Chase  answered. 

"  Why  don't  you  make  one  of  the  Willoughbys 
do  that  ?  They  never  do  anything  !" 

"  That's  all  right ;  I'm  the  working  partner  of  the 
firm  ;  it  was  so  understood  from  the  beginning.  The 
Willoughbys  only  put  in  capital ;  all  but  Walter,  of 
course,  who  hasn't  got  much.  But  Walter's  a  know 
ing  young  chap,  who  will  put  in  brains.  My  Cali 
fornia  business,  however,  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
Willoughbys,  Rutliie  ;  it's  my  own  private  affair,  that 
is.  If  I  succeed,  and  I  think  I  shall,  it  '11  about 
double  my  pile.  Come,  you  know  you  like  money." 
He  drew  her  hand  through  his  arm  and  held  it. 


154 


"How  many  more  rings  do  you  want?  How  many 
more  houses  ?  How  many  more  Frencli  maids  and 
flounces?  How  many  more  carriages?" 

"Oh,  leave  out  the  carriages,  do,"  interrupted  Ruth. 
"  When  it  comes  to  anything  connected  with  a  horse, 
who  spends  money — you  or  I  ?" 

"  My  one  small  spree  compared  to  your  fifty !" 

"  Small !"  she  repeated.  "  Wherever  we  go,  whole 
troops  of  horses  appear  by  magic !"  Then,  after  a 
moment,  she  let  her  head  rest  against  his  shoulder  as 
they  strolled  slowly  on.  "You  are  only  too  good  to 
me,"  she  added,  in  another  tone. 

"  Well,  I  guess  that's  about  what  I  want  to  be," 
Chase  answered,  covering,  as  he  often  did,  the  deep 
tenderness  in  his  heart  with  a  vein  of  jocularity. 

The  Atlantic  Ocean  Railroad's  terminal  station  at 
St.  Augustine  consisted  of  a  platform  in  the  sand 
and  another  flaring  bonfire.  At  half-past  six  Mrs. 
Franklin,  Dolly,  and  Anthony  Etheridge  were  wait 
ing  on  this  platform  for  the  evening  train.  With 
them  was  a  fourth  person — Mrs.  Lilian  Kip.  "  Oh, 
I  can  scarcely  wait  to  see  her !"  exclaimed  this  lady, 
excitedly.  "  Will  she  be  the  same  ?  But  no.  Im 
possible  !" 

"  She  is  exactly  the  same,"  answered  Dolly,  who, 
seated  on  an  empty  dry-goods  box,  was  watching  the 
bonfire. 

"But  you  must  remember  that  Ruth  did  not  come 
to  Florida  last  winter  after  her  marriage.  And  this 
summer,  when  I  was  in  Asheville,  she  was  abroad. 


1 55 


And  as  none  of  you  came  south  winter  before  last — • 
don't  you  see  that  it  makes  nearly  two  years  since  1 
have  seen  her?"  Mrs.  Kip  went  on.  "In  addition, 
marriage  changes  a  woman's  face  so — deepens  its 
expression  and  makes  it  so  much  more  beautiful. 
I  am  sure,  commodore,  that  you  agree  with  me 
there  ?"  And  she  turned  to  the  only  man  present. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  answered  Etheridge,  gallantly.  In  his 
heart  he  added  :  "  And  therefore  the  more  marriage 
the  better  ?  Is  that  what  you  are  thinking  of,  you 
idiot?" 

The  presence  of  Mrs.  Kip  always  tore  Etheridge 
to  pieces.  He  had  never  had  any  intention  of  mar 
rying,  and  he  certainly  had  no  such  intention  now. 
Yet  he  could  not  help  admiring  this  doubly  widowed 
Lilian  very  deeply,  after  a  fashion.  And  he  knew, 
too — jealously  and  angrily  he  knew  it — that  before 
long  she  would  inevitably  be  led  to  the  altar  a  third 
time ;  so  extremely  marriageable  a  woman  would 
never  lack  for  leaders. 

"  Ruth  is  handsomer,"  remarked  Mrs.  Franklin ; 
"  otherwise  she  is  unchanged.  You  will  see  it  for 
yourself,  Lilian,  when  she  comes." 

The  mother's  tone  was  placid.  All  her  forebod 
ings  had  faded  away,  and  she  had  watched  them  dis 
appear  with  thankful  eyes.  For  Ruth  was  happy ; 
there  could  be  no  doubt  about  that.  In  the  year  that 
had  passed  since  her  marriage,  she  had  returned  twice 
to  Asheville,  and  Mrs.  Franklin  also  had  spent  a 
month  at  her  son-in-law's  home  in  New  York.  On 


all  these  occasions  it  had  been  evident  that  the  girl 
was  enjoying  greatly  her  new  life ;  that  she  was  de 
lightedly,  exultantly,  and  gleefully  contented,  and  all 
in  a  natural  way,  without  analyzing  it.  She  delighted 
in  the  boundless  gratification  of  her  taste  for  per 
sonal  ease  and  luxury ;  she  exulted  in  all  that  she 
was  able  to  do  for  her  own  family ;  she  was  full  of 
glee  over  the  amusements,  the  entertainments,  and 
especially  the  change,  that  surrounded  her  like  a 
boundless  horizon.  For  her  husband  denied  her 
nothing ;  she  had  only  to  choose.  He  was  not  what 
is  known  as  set  in  his  ways ;  he  had  no  fixed  habits 
(save  the  habit  of  making  money) ;  in  everything, 
therefore,  except  his  business  affairs,  he  allowed  his 
young  wife  to  arrange  their  life  according  to  her 
fancy.  This  freedom,  this  power,  and  the  wealth, 
had  not  yet  become  an  old  story  to  Ruth,  and,  with 
the  enjoyment  which  she  found  in  all  three,  it  seemed 
as  if  they  never  would  become  that.  It  had  been  an 
immense  delight  to  her,  for  instance,  to  put  L'Hom- 
medieu  in  order  for  her  mother.  A  month  after  her 
marriage,  on  returning  to  Asheville  for  a  short  visit, 
she  had  described  her  plan  to  Dolly.  "  And  think 
what  fun  it  will  be,  Dolly,  to  have  the  whole  house 
done  over,  not  counting  each  cent  in  Genevieve's 
deadly  way,  but  just  recklessly!  And  then  to  see 
her  squirm,  and  say  '  surely  !'  And  you  and  mother 
must  pretend  not  to  care  much  about  it ;  you  must 
hardly  know  what  is  going  on,  while  they  are  actual 
ly  putting  in  steam-heaters,  and  hard-wood  floors, 


157 


and  bath-rooms  with  porcelain  tubs — hurrah  !"  And, 
with  Petie  Trone  barking  in  her  arms,  she  whirled 
round  in  a  dance  of  glee. 

Chase  happening  to  come  in  at  this  moment,  she 
immediately  repeated  to  him  all  that  she  had  been 
saying. 

He  agreed ;  then  added,  with  his  humorous  delib 
eration,  "But  you  don't  seem  to  think  quite  so  much 
of  my  old  school-mate  as  I  supposed  you  did  ?" 

"  Sisters-in-law,  Mr.  Chase,  are  seldom  very  devot 
ed  friends,"  explained  Dolly,  going  on  with  her  em 
broidery.  Dolly  always  did  something  that  required 
her  close  attention  whenever  Horace  Chase  was  pres 
ent.  "  How,  indeed,  can  they  be  ?  A  sister  sees 
one  side  of  her  brother's  nature,  and  sees  it  correct 
ly  ;  a  wife  sees  another  side,  and  with  equal  accuracy. 
Each  honestly  believes  that  the  other  is  entirely  wrong. 
Their  point  of  view,  you  see,  is  so  different !" 

The  waiting  group  at  the  St.  Augustine  station 
on  this  January  evening  heard  at  last  the  blast  of 
Abram's  horn,  and  presently  the  train  came  in,  the 
mules  for  the  last  few  yards  galloping  madly,  their 
tin  bells  giving  out  a  clattering  peal,  and  Chase  still 
acting  as  driver,  with  Ruth  beside  him.  Affectionate 
greetings  followed,  for  all  the  Franklins  were  warmly 
attached  to  each  other.  Mrs.  Kip  was  not  a  Franklin, 
but  she  was  by  nature  largely  affectionate ;  she  was 
probably  the  most  affectionate  person  in  Florida.  To 
the  present  occasion  she  contributed  several  tears  of 
joy.  Then  she  signalled  to  Juniper,  her  colored 


158 


waiter  ;  for,  being  not  only  affectionate,  but  roman 
tic  as  well,  she  had  brought  in  her  phaeton  a  bridal 
ornament,  a  heart  three  feet  high,  made  of  roses  re 
posing  upon  myrtle,  and  this  symbol,  amid  the  admi 
ration  of  all  the  bystanders,  black  and  white,  was 
now  borne  forward  in  the  arms  of  Juniper  (who,  be 
ing  a  slender  lad,  staggered  under  its  weight).  Ruth 
laughed  and  laughed  as  this  edifice  was  presented  to 
her.  But  as,  amid  her  mirth,  she  had  kissed  the 
donor  and  thanked  her  very  prettily,  Mrs.  Kip  was 
satisfied.  For  Ruth  might  laugh — Ruth,  in  fact,  al 
ways  laughed — but  marriage  was  marriage  none  the 
less ;  the  most  beautiful  human  relation  ;  and  it  was 
certainly  fit  that  the  first  visit  of  a  happily  wedded 
pair  to  the  land  of  flowers  should  be  commemorated 
florally.  Mrs.  Kip  volunteered  to  carry  her  heart  to 
Mrs.  Franklin's  residence  ;  she  drove  away,  therefore, 
Etheridge  accompanying  her,  and  Juniper  behind,  bal 
ancing  the  structure  as  well  as  he  could  on  his  knees, 
with  his  arms  stretched  upward  to  their  fullest  extent 
in  order  to  grasp  its  top. 

In  a  rickety  barouche  drawn  by  two  lean  horses 
the  others  followed,  laughing  and  talking  gayly. 
Chase  got  on  very  well  with  his  mother-in-law  ;  and 
he  supposed,  also,  that  he  got  on  fairly  well  with 
Dolly  :  he  had  not  divined  Dolly's  mental  attitude 
towards  him,  which  was  that  simply  of  an  armed  neu 
trality.  Dolly  would  have  been  wildly  happy  if,  for 
herself  and  her  mother  at  least,  she  could  have  re 
fused  every  cent  of  his  money.  This  had  not  been 


possible.  Chase  had  settled  upon  his  wife  a  sum 
which  gave  her  a  large  income  for  her  personal  use, 
independent  of  all  their  common  expenses ;  it  was 
upon  this  income  that  Ruth  had  drawn  for  the  resto 
ration  of  L'Hommedieu,  and  also  for  the  refurnish 
ing  of  her  mother's  house  at  St.  Augustine.  "  I  can't 
be  happy,  His  Grand,  I  can't  enjoy  New  York,  or  our 
trip  to  Europe,  or  anything,  unless  I  feel  certain  that 
you  are  perfectly  comfortable  in  every  way,"  she  had 
said  during  that  first  visit  at  home.  "  All  this  money 
is  mine ;  I  am  not  asked  what  I  do  with  it,  and  I 
never  shall  be  asked  ;  you  don't  know  Horace  if  you 
think  he  will  ever  even  allude  to  the  subject.  He  in 
tends  it  for  my  ownest  own,  and  of  course  he  knows 
what  I  care  the  most  for,  and  that  is  you  and  Jared 
and  Dolly.  I  have  always  suspected  that  something 
troubled  you  every  now  and  then,  though  I  didn't 
know  what.  And  if  it  was  money,  His  Grand,  you 
must  take  some  from  me,  now  that  I  have  it ;  you 
must  take  it,  and  make  your  little  girl  really  happy. 
For  she  can't  be  happy  until  you  do." 

This  youngest  child  really  was  still,  in  the  mother's 
eyes,  her  "  baby."  And  when  the  baby,  sitting  down 
in  her  lap,  put  her  arms  round  her  neck  and  pleaded 
so  lovingly,  the  mother  yielded.  Her  debts  were  now 
all  paid  ;  it  was  a  secret  between  herself  and  Ruth. 
The  disappearance  of  the  burden  was  a  great  relief 
to  the  mother,  though  not  so  much  so  as  it  would 
have  been  to  some  women ;  for  it  was  characteristic 
of  Mrs.  Franklin  that  she  had  never  thought  there 


160 


was  anything  wrong  in  being  in  debt ;  she  had  only 
thought  that  it  was  unfortunate.  It  would  not  have 
occurred  to  her,  even  in  her  worst  anxieties,  to  reduce 
sternly  her  expenses  until  they  accorded  with  her 
means,  no  matter  how  low  that  might  lead  her;  there 
was  a  point,  so  she  believed,  beyond  which  a  Mrs. 
Franklin  could  not  descend  with  justice  to  her  chil 
dren.  And  justice  to  her  children  was  certainly  a 
mother's  first  duty;  justice  to  creditors  must  take 
a  second  place. 

To  Dolly,  unaware  of  the  payment  of  the  debts, 
the  acceptance  even  of  the  restoration  of  the  two 
houses  had  been  bitter  enough ;  for  though  the 
money  came  through  Ruth's  hands,  it  was  neverthe 
less  provided  by  this  stranger.  "  If  I  had  only  been 
well,  I  could  have  worked  and  saved  mother  from 
this,"  she  thought.  "  But  I  am  helpless.  Not  only 
that,  but  a  care  !  Nobody  stops  to  think  how  dreary 
a  lot  it  is  to  be  always  a  care.  And  how  hard,  hard, 
never  to  be  able  to  give,  but  always  to  have  to  accept, 
accept,  and  be  thankful !"  But  Dolly,  at  heart,  had 
a  generous  nature  ;  she  would  not  cloud  even  by  a 
look  her  mother's  contentment  or  the  happiness  of 
Ruth.  So  when  Chase  said,  as  the  barouche  swayed 
crazily  through  the  deep  mud-hole  which  for  years 
formed  the  junction  between  the  station  lane  and  the 
main  road,  "This  old  rattletrap  isn't  safe,  ma'am.  Is 
it  the  best  St.  Augustine  can  do  ?  You  ought  to  have 
something  better!"  —  when  Chase  said  this  to  her 
mother,  Dolly  even  brought  forward  a  smile. 


161 


The  rattletrap  followed  the  long  causeway  which 
crossed  the  salt-marsh  and  the  San  Sebastian  River. 
Entering  the  town  beneath  an  archway  of  foliage, 
this  causeway  broadened  into  a  sandy  street  under 
huge  pride-of-India  trees,  whose  branches  met  over 
head.  Old  Miss  LMIommedieu's  winter  residence 
was  not  far  from  St.  Francis  Barracks,  at  the  south 
end  of  the  town.  It  was  an  old  coquina  house  which 
rose  directly  from  a  little-travelled  roadway.  An  open 
space  on  the  other  side  of  this  roadway,  and  the  ab 
sence  of  houses,  gave  it  the  air  of  being  "  on  the 
bay,"  as  it  was  called.  Chase  had  taken,  for  a  term 
of  years,  another  house  not  far  distant,  which  really 
was  on  the  bay.  He  had  done  this  to  please  Ruth. 
It  was  not  probable  that  they  should  spend  many 
winters  in  Florida ;  but  in  case  they  should  wish  to 
come  occasionally,  it  would  be  convenient  to  have  a 
house  ready.  "  And  when  we  don't  want  it,  Jared 
could  stay  here  now  and  then,"  Ruth  had  suggested. 

"  Your  brother  ?  I  guess  he  isn't  going  to  be  a  very 
easy  chap  to  arrange  for,  here  or  anywhere,"  Chase 
had  answered,  laughing.  "  We've  already  slipped  up 
once  pretty  well — Charleston,  you  know."  Then,  see 
ing  her  face  grow  troubled,  "  But  he'll  take  another 
view  of  something  else  I  have  in  mind,"  he  went  on. 
"  If  my  California  project  turns  out  as  I  hope,  it  will 
be  absolutely  necessary  for  me  to  have  a  confidential 
man  to  see  to  the  New  York  part  of  it — some  one 
whom  I  can  trust.  And  I  shall  be  able  to  convince 
Franklin  that  this  time,  at  any  rate,  instead  of  its  be 
lt 


162 


ing  a  favor  to  him,  it  '11  be  a  favor  to  me.  He  won't 
kick  at  that,  I  reckon." 

For  Jared  was  now  again  at  Raleigh,  working  as  a 
clerk  for  the  man  who  had  bought  his  former  busi 
ness  ;  he  had  resigned  his  Charleston  place  in  spite 
of  Ruth,  in  spite  even  of  Genevieve.  He  had  waited 
until  the  wedding  was  over,  in  order  that  Ruth  might 
not  be  made  unhappy  at  the  moment;  and  then  he 
had  done  it. 

Notwithstanding  this,  his  wife  had  never  had  so 
much  money  in  her  life  as  she  had  now.  For  she 
and  Ruth,  with  the  perfectly  good  conscience  which 
women  have  in  such  matters,  had  combined  together, 
as  it  were,  to  circumvent  secretly  the  obstinate  naval 
officer.  Ruth  was  warmly  attached  to  her  brother ; 
he  was  the  one  person  who  had  been  able  to  control 
her  when  she  was  a  child  ;  his  good  opinion  had  been 
a  hundred  times  more  important  to  her  than  that  of 
her  mother  and  Dolly.  Now  that  she  was  rich,  she 
was  bent  upon  helping  him ;  and  having  found  that 
she  could  not  do  it  directly,  she  had  turned  all  her 
intelligence  towards  doing  it  indirectly,  through  the 
capable,  the  willing  Genevieve.  Mrs.  Jared  Franklin, 
Junior,  had  quietly  and  skilfully  bought  land  in  Ashe- 
ville  (in  readiness  for  the  coming  railroad) ;  she  had 
an  account  at  the  bank ;  she  had  come  into  the  pos 
session  of  bonds  and  stock;  she  had  enlarged  her 
house,  and  she  had  also  given  herself  the  pleasure 
(she  called  it  the  benediction)  of  laying  the  founda 
tions  of  an  addition  to  the  Colored  Home.  As  she 


163 


kept  up  a  private  correspondence  with  Ruth,  she  had 
heard  of  the  proposed  place  in  New  York  for  Jared, 
the  place  where  his  services  would  be  of  value.  She 
was  not  surprised ;  it  was  what  she  had  been  count 
ing  upon.  Jared's  obstinacy  would  give  way,  must 
give  way,  before  this  new  opportunity  ;  and  in  the 
meanwhile,  here  at  Asheville,  all  was  going  splen 
didly  well. 

Amid  these  various  transactions  Jared  Franklin's 
mother  had  been  obliged  to  make  up  her  mind  as  to 
what  her  own  attitude  should  be.  It  had  been  to  her 
a  relief  unspeakable,  an  overmastering  joy,  to  know 
that  her  son  would  not,  after  all,  sink  to  harassing 
poverty.  Soothed  by  this,  lulled  also  by  the  hope 
that  before  very  long  he  would  of  his  own  accord 
consent  to  give  up  what  was  so  distasteful  to  him, 
she  had  virtually  condoned  the  underhand  partner 
ship  between  Ruth  and  Genevieve,  arranging  the  mat 
ter  with  her  conscience  after  her  own  fashion,  by 
simply  turning  her  head  away  from  the  subject  en 
tirely.  As  she  had  plenty  of  imagination,  she  had 
ended  by  really  convincing  herself  that  she  was  not 
aware  of  what  was  going  on,  because  she  had  not 
heard  any  of  the  details.  (She  had,  in  fact,  refused 
to  hear  them.)  This  left  her  free  to  say  to  Jared  (if 
necessary)  that  she  had  known  nothing.  But  she 
hoped  that  no  actual  words  of  this  sort  would  be 
required.  Her  temperament,  indeed,  had  always 
been  largely  made  up  of  hope. 

It  was  true  that  Jared  for  the  present  was  still  at 


164 


Raleigh,  drudging  away  at  a  very  small  salary.  That, 
however,  would  not  last  forever.  And  in  the  mean 
time  (and  this  was  also  extraordinarily  agreeable  to 
the  mother)  Madame  Genevieve  was  learning  that  she 
could  not  lead  her  husband  quite  so  easily  as  she  had 
supposed  she  could.  In  her  enjoyment  of  this  fact, 
Mrs.  Franklin,  in  certain  moods,  almost  hoped  that 
(as  his  affairs  were  in  reality  going  on  so  well)  her 
son  would  continue  to  hold  out  for  some  time  longer. 

The  house  which  Horace  Chase  had  taken  at  St. 
Augustine  was  much  larger  than  old  Miss  L'llomrne- 
dieu's  abode ;  it  was  built  of  coquina,  like  hers,  but 
it  faced  the  sea-wall  directly,  commanding  the  inlet ; 
from  its  upper  windows  one  could  see  over  Anastasia 
Island  opposite,  and  follow  miles  of  the  blue  south 
ern  sea.  Ruth's  French  maid,  Felicite,  had  arrived  at 
this  brown  mansion  the  day  before,  with  the  heavy 
luggage  ;  to-night,  however,  new-comers  were  to  re 
main  with  the  mother  in  the  smaller  house. 

When  the  barouche  reached  Mrs.  Franklin's  door, 
Etheridge,  Mrs.  Kip,  and  the  heart  were  already  there. 
"  I  won't  stay  now,"  said  Mrs.  Kip.  "  But  may  I 
look  in  later  ?  Evangelinc  Taylor  is  perfectly  wild 
to  corne." 

When  she  returned,  a  little  after  eight,  Chase  was 
still  in  the  dining-room  with  Anthony  Etheridge,  who 
had  dined  there.  The  heart  had  been  suspended 
from  a  stout  hook  on  the  parlor  wall,  and  Ruth  hap 
pened  a  moment  before  to  have  placed  herself  under 
it,  when,  having  discovered  her  old  guitar  in  a  closet, 


165 


she  had  seated  herself  to  tune  it.  "  It's  so  sweet, 
Ruth,  your  sitting  there  under  my  flowers,"  said  the 
visitor,  tearfully.  "  And  yet,  for  me,  such  an — such 
an  association!" 

"  I  thought  your  daughter  was  coining?"  said  Mrs. 
Franklin,  peering  towards  the  door  over  her  glasses. 

"  Evangeline  Taylor  will  be  here  in  a  moment," 
answered  her  mother ;  "  her  governess  is  bringing 
her."  And  presently  there  entered  a  tall,  a  gigan 
tically  tall  girl,  with  a  long,  solemn,  pale  face.  As 
she  was  barely  twelve,  she  was  dressed  youthfully 
in  a  short  school-girl  frock  with  a  blue  sash.  Ad 
vancing,  she  kissed  Ruth  ;  then,  retiring  to  a  corner, 
she  seated  herself,  arranged  her  feet  in  an  appropri 
ate  pose,  and  crossed  her  hands  in  her  lap.  A  little 
later,  when  no  one  was  looking,  she  furtively  altered 
the  position  of  her  feet.  Then  she  changed  once  or 
twice  the  arrangement  of  her  hands.  This  being 
settled  at  last  to  her  satisfaction,  she  turned  her  at 
tention  to  her  features,  trying  several  different  con 
tortions,  and  finally  settling  upon  a  drawing  in  of  the 
lips  and  a  slight  dilatation  of  the  nostrils.  And  all 
this  not  in  the  least  from  vanity,  but  simply  from  an 
intense  personal  conscientiousness. 

"  The  clear  child  longed  to  see  you,  Ruth.  She 
danced  for  joy  when  she  heard  you  had  come,"  ex 
plained  the  mother. 

"  Yes,  Evangeline  and  I  have  always  been  great 
chums,"  answered  Ruth,  good-naturedly. 

The  room  was  brightly  lighted,  and  the  light  showed 


166 


that  the  young  wife's  face  was  more  beautiful  than 
ever;  the  grace  of  her  figure  also  was  now  height 
ened  by  all  the  aids  that  dress  can  bestow.  Ruth 
had  said  to  Jared,  jokingly,  "  Wait  till  you  see  how 
pretty  I  shall  be  in  fine  clothes  !"  The  fine  clothes 
had  been  purchased  in  profusion,  and,  what  was  bet 
ter,  Felicite  knew  how  to  adapt  them  perfectly  to  her 
slender  young  mistress. 

Mrs.  Kip,  having  paid  her  tribute  to  "  the  associa 
tion  "  (she  did  not  say  whether  the  feeling  was  con 
nected  with  Andrew  Taylor,  her  first  husband,  or 
with  the  equally  departed  John  Kip,  her  second), 
now  seated  herself  beside  Ruth,  and,  with  the  free 
dom  of  old  friendship,  examined  her  costume.  "  I 
know  you  had  that  made  in  Paris  !"  she  said.  "  Sim 
ple  as  it  is,  it  has  a  sort  of  something  or  other  !  And, 
oh,  what  a  beautiful  bracelet !  What  splendid  rings  !" 

Ruth  wore  no  ornaments  save  that  on  her  right 
wrist  was  a  band  of  sapphires,  and  on  her  right 
hand  three  of  the  same  gems,  all  the  stones  being  of 
great  beauty.  On  her  left  hand  she  wore  the  wed 
ding  circlet,  with  her  engagement-ring  and  the  phil- 
opena  guard  over  it.  In  answer  to  the  exclamation, 
she  had  taken  off  the  jewels  and  tossed  them  all  into 
Mrs.  Kip's  lap.  Mrs.  Kip  looked  at  them,  her  red 
lips  open. 

To  some  persons,  Lilian  Kip  seemed  beautiful,  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  the  outline  of  her  features, 
from  certain  points  of  view,  was  almost  grotesque ; 
she  had  a  short  nose,  a  wide  mouth,  a  broad  face, 


167 


and  a  receding  chin.  Her  dark-brown  eyes  were 
neither  large  nor  bright,  but  they  had  a  soft,  dove- 
like  expression  ;  her  curling  hair  was  of  a  mahogany- 
red  tint,  and  she  had  the  exquisitely  beautiful  skin 
which  sometimes  accompanies  hair  of  this  hue ; 
her  cheeks  really  had  the  coloring  of  peaches  and 
cream ;  her  lips  were  like  strawberries ;  her  neck, 
arms,  and  hands  were  as  fair  as  the  inner  petals  of  a 
tea-rose.  With  the  exception  of  her  imperfect  facial 
outlines,  she  was  as  faultlessly  modelled  as  a  Venus. 
A  short  Venus,  it  is  true,  and  a  well-fed  one;  still  a 
Venus.  No  one  would  ever  have  imagined  her  to  be 
the  mother  of  that  light-house  of  a  daughter ;  it  was 
necessary  to  recall  the  fact  that  the  height  of  the  late 
Andrew  Taylor  had  been  six  feet  four  inches.  An 
drew  Taylor  having  married  Lilian  Howard  when 
she  was  but  seventeen,  Lilian  Kip,  in  spite  of  two 
husbands  and  her  embarrassingly  overtopping  child, 
found  herself  even  now  but  thirty. 

She  had  put  Ruth's  rings  on  her  hands  and  the 
bracelet  on  her  wrist ;  now  she  surveyed  the  effect 
with  her  head  on  one  side,  consideringly.  While 
she  was  thus  engaged,  Mrs.  Franklin's  little  negro 
boy,  Samp,  ushered  in  another  visitor — Walter  Wil- 
loughby. 

"  Welcome  to  Florida,  Mrs.  Chase,"  he  said,  as  he 
shook  hands  with  Ruth.  "  As  you  are  an  old  resi 
dent,  however,  it's  really  your  husband  whom  I  have 
come  to  greet ;  he  is  here,  isn't  he  ?" 

"Yes;  he  is  in  the  dining-room  with  Commodore 


168 


Etheridge,"  Ruth  answered.  "  Will  you  go  out  ?" 
For  it  was  literally  out ;  the  old  house  was  built  in 
the  Spanish  fashion  round  an  interior  court,  and  to 
reach  the  dining-room  one  traversed  a  long  veranda. 

"  Thanks  ;  I'll  wait  here,"  Walter  answered.  In 
reality  he  would  have  preferred  to  go  and  have  a 
cigar  with  Chase.  But  as  he  had  not  seen  his 
partner's  wife  since  she  returned  from  Europe,  it  was 
only  courtesy  as  well  as  good  policy  to  remain  where 
he  was.  For  Mrs.  Chase  was  a  power.  She  was  a 
power  because  her  husband  would  always  wish  to 
please  her ;  this  desire  would  come  next  to  his 
money-making,  and  would  even,  in  Walter's  opinion 
(in  case  there  should  ever  be  a  contest  between  the 
two  influences),  "  run  in  close  !" 

Mrs.  Kip  had  hastily  divested  herself  of  the  jewels, 
and  replaced  them  on  Ruth's  wrist  and  hands,  with 
many  caressing  touches.  "  Aren't  they  lovely  ?"  she 
said  to  WTalter. 

"  That  little  one,  the  guard,  was  my  selection,"  he 
replied,  indicating  the  philopena  circlet. 

"  And  not  this  also  ?"  said  Ruth,  touching  her 
engagement  ring. 

"  No ;  that  was  my  uncle  Richard's  choice ;  Chase 
wrote  to  him  the  second  time,  not  to  me,"  Walter 
answered.  "  I'm  afraid  he  didn't  like  my  taste." 
He  laughed  ;  then  turned  to  another  subject.  "  You 
were  playing  the  guitar  when  I  came  in,  Mrs.  Chase  ; 
won't  you  sing  something  ?" 

"  I  neither  play  nor  e;ing  in  a  civilized  way,"  Ruth 


169 


answered.  "  None  of  us  do.  In  music  we  are  all 
awful  barbarians." 

"  How  can  you  say  so,"  protested  Mrs.  Kip,  "when, 
as  a  family,  you  are  so  musical  ?"  Then,  summoning 
to  her  eyes  an  expression  of  great  intelligence,  she 
added  :  "  And  I  should  know  that  you  were,  all  of 
you,  from  your  thick  eyebrows  and  very  thick  hair. 
You  have  heard  of  that  theory,  haven't  you,  Mr. 
Willoughby  ?  That  all  true  musicians  have  very 
thick  hair  ?" 

"  Also  murderers  ;  I  mean  the  women  —  the  mur 
deresses,"  remarked  Dolly. 

"  Oh,  Dolly,  what  ideas  you  do  have  !  Who  would 
ever  think  of  associating  murderesses  with  music  ? 
Music  is  so  uplifting,"  protested  the  rosy  widow. 

"  We  should  take  care  that  it  is  not  too  much  so," 
Dolly  answered.  "  Lots  of  us  are  ridiculously  up 
lifted.  We  know  one  thing  perhaps,  and  like  it. 
But  we  remain  flatly  ignorant  about  almost  every 
thing  else.  In  a  busy  world  this  would  do  no  harm, 
if  we  could  only  be  conscious  of  it.  But  no ;  on  we 
go,  deeply  conceited  about  the  one  thing  we  know 
and  like,  and  loftily  severe  as  to  the  ignorance  of 
other  persons  concerning  it.  It  doesn't  occur  to  us 
that  upon  other  subjects  save  our  own,  we  ourselves 
are  presenting  precisely  the  same  spectacle.  A 
Beethoven,  when  it  comes  to  pictures,  may  find 
something  very  taking  in  a  daub  representing  a 
plump  child  with  a  skipping-rope,  and  the  legend: 
'See  me  jump!'  A  painter  of  the  highest  power 


may  think  'The  Sweet  By- and -By'  on  the  cornet 
the  acme  of  musical  expression.  A  distinguished 
sculptor  may  appreciate  on  the  stage  only  negro 
minstrels  or  a  tenth -rate  farce.  A  great  historian 
may  see  nothing  to  choose,  in  the  way  of  beauty,  be 
tween  a  fine  etching  and  a  chromo.  It  is  well  known 
that  the  most  celebrated,  and  deservedly  celebrated, 
scientific  man  of  our  day  devours  regularly  the 
weakest  fiction  that  we  have.  And  people  who  love 
the  best  classical  music  and  can  endure  nothing  else, 
have  no  idea,  very  often,  whether  they  belong  to  the 
mammalia  or  the  Crustacea,  or  whether  the  Cologne 
cathedral  is  Doric  or  late  Tudor." 

"  Carry  it  a  little  further,  Miss  Franklin,"  said 
Walter  Willoughby  ;  "  it  has  often  been  noted  that 
criminals  delight  in  the  most  sentimental  tales." 

"  That  isn't  the  same  thing,"  Dolly  answered. 
"  However,  to  take  up  your  idea,  Mr.  Willoughby, 
it  is  certainly  true  that  it  is  often  the  good  women 
who  read  with  the  most  breathless  interest  the  news 
paper  reports  of  crimes." 

"  Oh  no  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Kip. 

"Yes,  they  do,  Lilian,"  Dolly  responded.  "And 
when  it  comes  to  tales,  they  like  dreadful  events, 
with  plenty  of  moral  reflections  thrown  in ;  the 
moral  reflections  make  it  all  right.  A  plain  narra 
tive  of  an  even  much  less  degree  of  evil,  given  im 
partially,  and  without  a  word  of  comment  by  the 
author  —  that  seems  to  them  the  unpardonable 
thing.'' 


171 


"  Well,  and  isn't  it  ?"  said  Mrs.  Kip.  "  Shouldn't 
people  be  taught — counselled  ?" 

"  And  it's  for  the  sake  of  the  counsel  that  they 
read  such  stones?"  inquired  Dolly. 

During  this  conversation,  Chase,  in  the  dining- 
room,  had  risen  and  given  a  stretch,  with  his  long 
arms  out  horizontally.  He  was  beginning  to  feel 
bored  by  the  talk  of  Anthony  Etheridge,  "  the  ancient 
swell,"  as  he  called  him.  In  addition,  he  had  a  vision 
of  finishing  this  second  cio-ar  in  a  comfortable  chair 

&  O 

in  the  parlor  (for  Mrs.  Franklin  had  no  objection  to 
cigar  smoke),  with  Ruth  near  by ;  for  it  always 
amused  him  to  hear  his  wife  laugh  and  talk.  The 
commodore,  meanwhile,  having  assigned  to  himself 
from  the  day  of  the  wedding  the  task  of  "  helping  to 
civilize  the  Bubble,"  never  lost  an  opportunity  to  tell 
him  stories  from  his  own  more  cultivated  experience 
— "  stories  that  will  give  him  ideas,  and-,  by  Jove  ! 
phrases,  too.  He  needs  'em  !"  He  had  risen  also. 
But  he  now  detained  his  companion  until  he  had 
finished  what  he  was  saying.  "  So  there  you  have 
the  reason,  Mr.  Chase,  why  /  didn't  marry.  I  simply 
couldn't  endure  the  idea  of  an  old  woman's  face  op 
posite  mine  at  table  year  after  year ;  for  our  women 
grow  old  so  soon !  Now  you,  sir,  have  shown  the 
highest  wisdom  in  this  respect.  I  congratulate  you." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  answered  Chase,  as  he 
turned  towards  the  door.  "  Ruth  will  have  an  old 
man's  face  opposite  her  before  very  long,  won't  she  2" 

"  Not  at  all,   my  good   friend ;  not  at  all.     Men 


172 


have  no  ago.  At  least,  they  need  not  have  it,"  an 
swered  Etheridge,  bringing  forward  with  joviality  his 
favorite  axiom. 

Cordial  greetings  took  place  between  Chase  and 
Walter  Willoughby.  "Your  uncles  weren't  sure 
you  would  still  be  here,"  Chase  remarked.  "  They 
thought  perhaps  you  wouldn't  stay." 

"  I  shall  stay  awhile — outstay  yon,  probably,"  an 
swered  Walter,  smiling.  "  I  can't  imagine  that 
you'll  stand  it  long." 

"  Doing  nothing,  you  mean  ?  Well,  it's  true  I 
have  never  loafed  muck"  Chase  admitted. 

"  You  loafed  all  summer  in  Europe,"  the  younger 
man  replied,  and  his  voice  had  almost  an  intonation 
of  complaint.  He  perceived  this  himself,  and  smiled 
a  little  over  it. 

"  So  that  was  loafing,  was  it,"  commented  Ruth, 
in  a  musing  tone — "  catching  trains  and  coaches  on 
a  full  run,  seeing  three  or  four  cantons,  half  a  dozen 
towns,  two  passes,  and  several  ranges  of  mountains 
every  day  ?" 

All  laughed,  and  Mrs.  Kip  said  :  "  Did  you  rush 
along  at  that  rate  ?  That  was  baddish.  There's  no 
hurry  here  ;  that's  one  good  thing.  The  laziest  place  ! 
We  must  get  up  a  boat-ride  soon,  Ruth.  Boat-drive, 
I  mean." 

Mrs.  Franklin  meanwhile,  rising  to  get  something, 
knocked  over  accidentally  the  lamplighters  which  she 
had  just  completed,  and  Chase,  who  saw  it,  jumped 
up  to  help  her  collect  them. 


173 


"  Why,  lio\v  many  you  have  made  !"  he  said, 
gallantly. 

She  was  not  pleased  by  this  innocent  speech  ;  she 
had  no  desire  to  be  patted  on  the  back,  as  it  were, 
about  her  curled  strips  of  paper ;  she  curled  them  to 
please  herself.  She  made  no  reply,  save  that  her 
nose  looked  unusually  aquiline. 

"  Yes,  mother  is  tremendously  industrious  in 
lamplighters,"  remarked  Dolly.  "  Her  only  grief 
is  that  she  cannot  send  them  to  the  Indian  mis 
sions.  You  can  send  almost  everything  to  the 
Indian  missions ;  but  somehow  lamplighters  fill  no 
void." 

"  Do  you  mean  the  new  mission  we  are  to  have 
here — the  Indians  at  the  fort  ?"  asked  Walter  Wil- 
loughby.  "  They  are  having  a  big  dance  to-night." 

Ruth  looked  up. 

"  Should  you  like  to  see  it  ?"  he  went  on,  instantly 
taking  advantage  of  an  opportunity  to  please  her. 
"Nothing  easier.  We  could  watch  it  quite  com 
fortably,  you  know,  from  the  ramparts." 

"  I  should  like  it  ever  so  much !  Let  us  go  at 
once,  before  it  is  over!"  exclaimed  Ruth,  eagerly. 

"  Ruth  !  Ruth  !"  said  her  mother.  "  After  travel 
ling  all  day,  Mr.  Chase  may  be  tired." 

"  Not  at  all,  ma'am,"  said  Chase.  "  I  don't  take 
much  stock  in  Indians  myself,"  he  went  on,  to  his 
wife.  "  Do  you  really  want  to  go  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  Horace.     Please." 

"  And  the  commodore  will  go  with  me"  said  Mrs. 


174 


Kip,  turning  her  soft  eyes  towards  Etheridge,  who 
went  down  before  the  glance  like  a  house  of  cards. 

"  But  we  must  take  Evangeline  Taylor  home  first," 
said  Mrs.  Kip.  "  We'll  go  round  by  way  of  Anda 
lusia,  commodore.  It  would  never  do  to  let  her  see  an 
Indian  dance  at  her  age,"  she  added,  affectionately, ' 
lifting  her  hand  high  to  pat  her  daughter's  aerial 
cheek.  "  It  would  make  her  tremble  like  a  babe." 

"  Oh,  did  you  hear  her '  baddish  ' !"  said  Dolly,  as, 
a  few  minutes  later,  they  went  up  the  steps  that  led 
to  the  sea-wall,  Chase  and  Walter  Willoughby,  Ruth 
and  herself.  "  And  did  you  hear  her  '  boat-drive  '  ? 
She  has  become  so  densely  confused  by  hearing  Achil 
les  Lame  inveigh  against  the  use  of  '  ride '  for 
*  drive '  that  now  she  thinks  everything  must  be 
drive." 

Chase  and  Walter  Willoughby  smiled  ;  but  not 
unkindly.  There  are  some  things  which  the  Dolly 
Franklins  of  the  world  are  incapable,  with  all  their 
cleverness,  of  comprehending ;  one  of  them  is  the 
attraction  of  a  sweet  fool. 

The  sea-wall  of  St.  Augustine  stretches,  with  its 
smooth  granite  coping,  along  the  entire  front  of  the 
old  town,  nearly  a  mile  in  length.  On  the  land  side 
its  top  is  but  four  or  five  feet  above  the  roadway  ; 
towards  the  water  it  presents  a  high,  dark,  wet  sur 
face,  against  which  comes  the  wash  of  the  ocean,  or 
rather  of  the  inlet ;  for  the  harbor  is  protected  by  a 
long,  low  island  lying  outside.  It  is  this  island, 
called  Anastasia,  that  has  the  ocean  beach.  The 


175 


walk  on  top  of  the  wall  is  just  wide  enough  for  two. 
Walter  Willoughby  led  the  way  with  Dolly,  and 
Chase  and  his  wife  followed,  a  short  distance  be 
hind. 

Walter  thought  Miss  Franklin  tiresome.  With  the 
impatience  of  a  young  fellow,  he  did  not  care  for  her 
clever  talk.  lie  was  interested  in  clever  men  ;  in 
woman  he  admired  other  qualities.  He  had  spent 
ten  days  in  Asheville  during  the  preceding  summer 
in  connection  with  Chase's  plans  for  investment 
there,  and  he  had  been  often  at  L'llommedieu  during 
his  stay ;  but  he  had  found  Genevieve  more  attrac 
tive  than  Dolly — Genevieve  and  Mrs.  Kip.  For  Mrs. 
Kip,  since  her  second  widowhood,  had  spent  her 
summers  at  Asheville,  for  the  sake  of  "the  mountain 
atmosphere  ;"  ("  which  means  Achilles  atmosphere," 
Mrs.  Franklin  declared).  This  evening  Walter  had 
felt  a  distinct  sense  of  annoyance  when  Dolly  had 
announced  her  intention  of  going  with  them  to  see 
the  Indian  dance,  for  this  would  arrange  their  party 
in  twos.  lie  had  no  desire  for  a  tete-a-tete  with 
Dolly,  and  neither  did  he  care  for  a  tete-a-tete  with 
Ruth  ;  his  idea  had  been  to  accompany  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Chase  as  a  third.  However,  he  made  the  best  of  it ; 
Walter  always  did  that.  He  had  the  happy  faculty 
of  getting  all  the  enjoyment  possible  out  of  the  pres 
ent,  whatever  it  might  be.  Postponing,  therefore, 
to  the  next  day  his  plan  for  making  himself  agree 
able  to  the  Chases,  he  led  the  way  gayly  enough  to 
the  fort. 


176 


Fort  San  Marco  is  the  most  imposing  ancient 
structure  which  the  United  States  can  show.  Begun 
in  the  seventeenth  century,  when  Florida  was  a  prov 
ince  of  Spain,  it  has  turrets,  ramparts,  and  bastions, 
a  portcullis  and  barbacan,  a  moat  and  drawbridge. 
Its  water-battery,  where  once  stood  the  Spanish  can 
non,  looks  out  to  sea.  Having  outlived  its  use  as  a 
fortification,  it  was  now  sheltering  temporarily  a  band 
of  Indians  from  the  far  West,  most  of  whom  had 
been  sentenced  to  imprisonment  for  crime.  With 
the  captives  had  come  their  families,  for  this  impris 
onment  was  to  serve  also  as  an  experiment ;  the  red 
men  were  to  be  instructed,  influenced,  helped.  At 
present  the  education  had  not  had  time  to  progress 
far. 

The  large  square  interior  court,  open  to  the  sky, 
was  to-night  lighted  by  torches  of  pine,  which  were 
thrust  into  the  iron  rings  that  had  served  the  Span 
iards  for  the  same  purpose  long  before.  The  Ind 
ians,  adorned  with  paint  and  feathers,  were  going 
through  their  wild  evolutions,  now  moving  round  a 
large  circle  in  a  strange  squatting  attitude,  now 
bounding  aloft.  Their  dark  faces,  either  from  their 
actual  feelings  or  from  the  simulated  ferocity  appro 
priate  to  a  war-dance,  were  very  savage,  and  with 
their  half-naked  bodies,  their  whoops  and  yells,  they 
made  a  picture  that  was  terribly  realistic  to  the 
whites  who  looked  on  from  the  ramparts  above,  for 
it  needed  but  little  imagination  to  fancy  a  lona  fide 
attack  —  the  surprise  of  the  lonely  frontier  farm- 


177 


house,  with  the  following  massacre  and  dreadful 
shrieks. 

Ruth,  half  frightened,  clung  to  her  husband's  arm. 
Mrs.  Kip,  after  a  while,  began  to  sob  a  little. 

"  I'm  thinking — of  the  wo-women  they  have  prob 
ably  scalped  on  the  pla-ains"  she  said  to  Etheridge. 

"What?"  he  asked,  unable  to  hear. 

"Never  mind;  we'll  convert  them,"  she  went  on, 
drying  her  eyes  hopefully.  For  a  Sunday-school 
was  to  be  established  at  the  fort,  and  she  had  al 
ready  promised  to  take  a  class. 

But  Dolly  was  on  the  side  of  the  Indians.  "The 
crimes  for  which  these  poor  creatures  are  imprisoned 
here  are  nothing  but  virtues  upside  down,"  she 
shouted.  "  They  killed  white  men  ?  Of  course  they 
did.  Haven't  the  white  men  stolen  all  their  land  ?" 

"But  we're  going  to  Christianize  them,"  yelled 
Mrs.  Kip,  in  reply.  They  were  obliged  to  yell,  amid 
the  deafening  noise  of  the  dance  and  the  whoopings 
below. 

Ruth  had  a  humorous  remark  ready,  when  sudden 
ly  her  husband,  to  Walter's  amusement,  put  his  hand 
over  her  lips.  She  looked  up  at  him,  laughing.  She 
understood. 

"  Funniest  thing  in  the  world,"  he  had  once  said 
to  her,  "  but  the  more  noise  there  is,  the  more  in 
cessantly  women  will  talk.  Ever  noticed?  They 
are  capable  of  carrying  on  a  shrieking  conversation 
in  the  cars  all  day  long." 

The  atmosphere  grew  dense  with  the  smoke  from 
12 


178 


the  pitch-pine  torches,  and  suddenly,  ten  minutes 
later,  Dolly  fainted.  This  in  itself  was  not  alarm 
ing ;  with  Dolly  it  happened  not  infrequently.  But 
under  the  present  circumstances  it  was  awkward. 

"  Why  did  you  let  her  come  ?  I  was  amazed  when 
I  saw  her  here,"  said  Etheridge,  testily. 

For  Etheridge  was  dead  tired.  He  hated  the  Ind 
ians  ;  he  detested  the  choking  smoke ;  he  loathed 
open  ramparts  at  this  time  of  night.  Ruth  and  Mrs. 
Franklin  had  themselves  been  surprised  by  Dolly's 
desire  to  see  the  dance.  But  they  always  encour 
aged  any  wish  of  hers  to  go  anywhere ;  such  inclina 
tions  were  so  few. 

Walter  Willoughby,  meanwhile,  prompt  as  ever, 
had  already  found  a  vehicle  —  namely,  the  phaeton 
of  Captain  March,  the  army  officer  in  charge  of 
the  Indians ;  it  was  waiting  outside  to  take  Mrs. 
March  back  to  the  Magnolia  Hotel.  "  The  captain 
lends  it  with  pleasure  ;  as  soon,  therefore,  as  Miss 
Franklin  is  able,  I  can  drive  her  home,"  suggested 
Walter. 

But  Chase,  who  knew  through  his  wife  some  of 
the  secrets  of  Dolly's  suffering,  feared  lest  she  might 
now  be  attacked  by  pain ;  he  would  not  trust  her  to 
a  careless  young  fellow  like  Walter.  "  I'll  take  her 
myself,"  he  said.  "  And  Ruth,  you  can  come  back 
with  the  others,  along  the  sea-wall." 

Dolly,  who  had  recovered  consciousness,  protested 
against  this  arrangement.  But  her  voice  was  only  a 
whisper ;  Chase,  paying  no  attention  to  it,  lifted  her 


and  helped  her  down  to  the  phaeton.  He  was  cer 
tainly  the  one  to  do  it,  so  he  thought ;  his  wife's 
sister  was  his  sister  as  well.  It  was  a  pity  that  she 
was  not  rather  more  amiable.  But  that  made  no  dif 
ference  regarding  one's  duty  towards  her. 

The  others  also  left  the  ramparts,  and  started 
homeward,  following  the  sea-wall. 

This  granite  pathway  is  not  straight ;  it  curves  a 
little  here  and  there,  adapting  itself  to  the  line  of 
the  shore.  To-night  it  glittered  in  the  moonlight. 
It  was  high  tide,  and  the  water  also  glittered  as  it 
came  lapping  against  the  stones  waveringly,  so  that 
the  granite  somehow  seemed  to-  waver,  too.  Ether- 
idge  was  last,  behind  Mrs.  Kip.  He  did  not  wish  to 
make  her  dizzy  by  walking  beside  her,  he  said. 
Suddenly  he  descended.  On  the  land  side. 

Mrs.  Kip,  hearing  the  thud  of  his  jump,  turned  her 
head,  surprised.  And  then  the  commodore  (though 
he  was  still  staggering)  held  out  his  hand,  saying, 
"We  get  off  here,  of  course;  it  is  much  our  nearest 
way.  That's  the  reason  I  stepped  down,"  he  care 
lessly  added. 

Mrs.  Kip  had  intended  to  follow  the  wall  as  far  as 
the  Basin.  But  she  always  instinctively  obeyed  di 
rections  given  in  a  masculine  voice.  If  there  were 
two  masculine  voices,  she  obeyed  the  younger.  In 
this  case  the  younger  man  did  not  speak.  She  ac 
quiesced,  therefore,  in  the  elder's  sharp  "  Come !" 
For  poor  Etheridge  had  been  so  jarred  by  his  fall 
that  his  voice  had  become  for  the  moment  falsetto. 


180 


Mrs.  Chase  and  Walter  Willoughby,  thus  desert 
ed,  continued  on  their  way  alone. 

It  was  a  beautiful  night.  The  moon  lighted  the 
water  so  brilliantly  that  the  flash  of  the  light-house 
on  Anastasia  seemed  superfluous ;  the  dark  fort 
loomed  up  in  massive  outlines ;  a  narrow  black  boat 
was  coming  across  from  the  island,  and,  as  there  was 
a  breeze,  the  two  Minorcans  it  carried  had  put  up  a 
rag  of  a  sail,  which  shone  like  silver.  "  How  fast 
they  go !"  said  Kuth. 

"  Would  you  like  to  sail  home  ?"  asked  Walter. 
He  did  not  wait  for  her  answer,  for,  quick  at  divina 
tion,  he  had  caught  the  wish  in  her  voice.  He  hailed 
the  Minorcans ;  they  brought  their  boat  up  to  the 
next  flight  of  water-steps ;  in  two  minutes  from  the 
time  she  had  first  spoken,  Ruth,  much  amused  by 
this  unexpected  adventure,  was  sailing  down  the  in 
let.  "  Oh,  how  wet !  I  didn't  think  of  that,"  Walter 
had  exclaimed  as  he  saw  the  water  in  the  bottom  of 
the  boat ;  and  with  a  quick  movement  he  had  di 
vested  himself  of  his  coat,  and  made  a  seat  of  it  for 
her  in  the  driest  place.  She  had  had  no  time  to 
object,  they  were  already  off;  she  must  sit  down, 
and  sit  still,  for  their  tottlish  craft  was  only  a  dug 
out.  Walter,  squatting  opposite,  made  jocular  re 
marks  about  his  appearance  as  he  sat  there  in  his 
shirt-sleeves. 

It  was  never  difficult  for  Ruth  to  laugh,  and  pres 
ently,  as  the  water  gained  on  her  companion  in  spite 
of  all  his  efforts,  she  gave  way  to  mirth.  She  laughed 


181 


so  long  that  Walter  began  to  feel  that  he  knew  her 
better,  that  he  even  knew  her  well.  He  laughed 
himself.  But  he  also  took  the  greatest  pains  at  the 
same  time  to  guard  her  pretty  dress  from  injury. 

The  breeze  and  the  tide  were  both  in  their  favor ; 
they  glided  rapidly  past  the  bathing-house,  the  Plaza, 
the  Basin,  and  the  old  mansion  which  Chase  had 
taken.  Then  Walter  directed  the  Minorcans  towards 
another  flight  of  water-steps.  "  Here  we  are,"  he 
said.  "  And  in  half  the  time  it  would  have  taken  us 
if  we  had  walked.  We  have  come  like  a  shot." 

He  took  her  to  her  mother's  door.  Then,  pretty 
wet,  with  his  ruined  coat  over  his  arm,  he  walked 
back  along  the  sea-wall  to  the  St.  Augustine  Hotel. 


CHAPTER   IX 

Two  weeks  later  Mrs.  Kip  gave  an  afternoon  party 
for  the  Indians.  Captain  March  had  not  been  struck 
by  her  idea  that  the  sight  of  "  a  lady's  quiet  home  " 
would  have  a  soothing  effect  upon  these  children  of 
the  plains.  Mrs.  Kip  had  invited  the  whole  band, 
but  the  captain  had  sent  only  a  carefully  selected 
half-dozen  in  charge  of  the  interpreter.  And  he  had 
also  added,  uninvited,  several  soldiers  from  the  small 
force  at  his  disposal.  Mrs.  Kip  was  sure  that  these 
soldiers  were  present  "  merely  for  form."  There  are 
various  kinds  of  form.  Captain  March,  having  con 
fided  to  the  colonel  who  commanded  at  the  other 
end  of  the  sea-wall,  that  he  could  answer  for  the  de 
corum  of  his  six  u  unless  the  young  ladies  get  hold 
of  them,"  a  further  detachment  of  men  had  arrived 
from  St.  Francis  Barracks  ;  for  the  colonel  was  aware 
that  the  party  was  to  be  largely  feminine.  The  fes 
tivities,  therefore,  went  on  with  double  brilliancy, 
owing  to  the  many  uniforms  visible  under  the  trees. 

These  trees  were  magnificent.  Mrs.  Kip  occupied, 
as  tenant,  the  old  Buckingham  Smith  place,  which 
she  had  named  Andalusia.  Here,  in  addition  to  the 
majestic  live-oaks,  were  date-palms,  palmettoes,  mag 
nolias,  crape-myrtles,  figs,  and  bananas,  hedges  of 


183 


Spanish-bayonet,  and  a  half-mile  of  orange  walks, 
which  resembled  tunnels  through  a  glossy-green  foli 
age,  the  daylight  at  each  end  looking  like  a  far-away 
yellow  spot.  All  this  superb  vegetation  rose,  strange 
ly  enough  to  Northern  eyes,  from  a  silver-white  soil. 
It  was  a  beautiful  day,  warm  and  bright.  Above,  the 
sky  seemed  very  near ;  it  closed  down  over  the  flat 
land  like  a  soft  blue  cover.  The  air  was  full  of  fra 
grance,  for  both  here  and  in  the  neighboring  grove 
of  Dr.  Carrington  the  orange -trees  were  in  bloom. 
Andalusia  was  near  the  San  Sebastian  border  of  the 
town,  and  to  reach  it  on  foot  one  was  obliged  to  toil 
through  a  lane  so  deep  in  sand  that  it  was  practical 
ly  bottomless. 

There  was  no  toil,  however,  for  Mrs.  Horace  Chase ; 
on  the  day  of  the  party  she  arrived  at  Andalusia  in  a 
phaeton  drawn  by  two  pretty  ponies.  She  was  driv 
ing,  for  the  ponies  were  hers.  Her  husband  was  be 
side  her,  and,  in  the  little  seat  behind,  Walter  Wil- 
loughby  had  perched  himself.  It  was  a  very  early 
party,  having  begun  with  a  dinner  for  the  Indians  at 
one  o'clock  ;  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Chase  arrived  at  half-past 
two.  Dressed  in  white,  Mrs.  Kip  was  hovering  round 
her  dark-skinned  guests.  When  she  could  not  think 
of  anything  else  to  do,  she  shook  hands  with  them  ; 
she  had  already  been  through  this  ceremony  eight 
times.  "  If  I  could  only  speak  to  them  in  their  own 
tongue !"  she  said,  yearningly.  And  the  long  sen 
tences,  expressive  of  friendship,  which  she  begged 
the  interpreter  to  translate  to  them,  would  have 


184 


filled  a  volume.  The  interpreter,  a  very  intelligent 
young  man,  obeyed  all  her  requests  with  much  polite 
ness.  "  Tell  them  that  we  love  them,"  said  Mrs.  Kip. 
11  Tell  them  that  we  think  of  their  souls." 

The  interpreter  bowed ;  then  he  translated  as 
follows :  "  The  white  squaw  says  that  you  have 
had  enough  to  eat,  and  more  than  enough ;  and 
she  hopes  that  you  won't  make  pigs  of  yourselves 
if  anything  else  is  offered — especially  Drowning 
Raven  !" 

The  Chases  and  Walter  Willoughby  had  come  to 
the  Indian  party  for  a  particular  purpose,  or  rather 
Walter  had  asked  the  assistance  of  the  other  two  in 
carrying  out  a  purpose  of  his  own,  which  was  to 
make  Mrs.  Kip  give  them  a  ball.  For  Andalusia 
possessed  a  capital  room  for  dancing.  The  room 
was,  in  fact,  an  old  gymnasium — a  one-story  building 
near  the  house.  Mrs.  Kip  was  in  the  habit  of  lend 
ing  this  gymnasium  for  tableaux  and  Sunday-school 
festivals ;  to-day  it  had  served  as  a  dining-room  for 
the  Indians.  Walter  declared  that  with  the  aid  of 
flags  and  flowers  the  gymnasium  would  make  an  ex 
cellent  ball-room;  and  as  the  regimental  band  had 
arrived  at  St.  Francis  Barracks  that  morning  for  a 
short  stay,  the  mistress  of  Andalusia  must  be  attacked 
at  once. 

"  We'll  go  to  her  Indian  party,  and  compliment  her 
out  of  her  shoes,"  he  suggested.  "  You,  Mrs.  Chase, 
must  be  struck  with  her  dress.  I  shall  simply  make 
love  to  her.  And  let  me  see  —  what  can  you  do  ?" 


185 


he  went  on,  addressing  Chase.  "  I  have  it ;  you  can 
admire  her  chiefs." 

"  Dirty  lot !"  Chase  answered.  "  I'd  rather  admire 
the  hostess." 

But  the  six  Indians  were  not  at  all  dirty ;  they  had 
never  been  half  so  clean  since  they  were  born ;  they 
fairly  shone  with  soap  and  ablutions.  Dressed  in 
trousers  and  calico  shirts,  with  moccasins  on  their 
feet,  and  their  black  hair  carefully  anointed,  they 
walked,  stood,  or  sat  in  a  straight  row  all  together, 
according  to  the  strongly  emphasized  instructions 
which  they  had  received  before  setting  out.  Two 
old  warriors,  one  of  them  the  gluttonous  Drowning 
Kaven  reproved  by  the  interpreter,  grinned  affably  at 
everything.  The  others  preserved  the  dignified  Ind 
ian  impassiveness. 

Soon  after  his  arrival,  Walter,  who  had  paid  his 
greetings  upon  entering,  returned  to  his  fair  hostess. 
"  I  hear  you  have  a  rose-tree  that  is  a  wonder,  Mrs. 
Kip;  where  is  it?" 

Mrs.  Kip  began  to  explain.  "Go  through  the  first 
orange-walk.  Then  turn  to  the  right.  Then — " 

"  I  am  afraid  I  can't  remember.  Take  me  there 
yourself,"  said  Walter,  calmly. 

"  Oh,  I  ought  to  be  here,  I  think.  People  are  still 
coming,  you  know,"  answered  the  lady.  Then,  as  he 
did  not  withdraw  his  order,  "  Well,"  she  said,  assent- 
ingly. 

They  were  absent  twenty  minutes. 

When  they  returned,  the  soft  brown  eyes  of  the 


186 


widow  bad  a  partly  pleased,  partly  deprecatory  ex 
pression.  Another  young  man  in  love  with  her ! 
What  could  she  do  to  prevent  these  occurrences  ? 

Walter,  meanwhile,  had  returned  to  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Chase.  "  It's  all  right,"  he  said  to  Ruth.  "  The  ball 
will  come  off  to-morrow  night.  Impromptu.'" 

"  Well,  you  have  got  cheek !"  commented  Chase. 

Mrs.  Kip  herself  soon  came  up.  "  Ruth,  dear,  do 
you  know  that  the  artillery  band  is  only  to  stay  a 
short  time  ?  My  gymnasium  has  a  capital  floor ; 
what  do  you  say  to  an  impromptu  dance  there  to 
morrow  night?  I've  just  thought  of  it;  it's  my  own 
idea  entirely." 

"  Now  what  made  her  lug  in  that  unnecessary  lie 
at  the  end?"  inquired  Chase,  in  a  reasoning  tone, 
when  their  hostess,  after  a  few  minutes  more  of  con 
versation,  had  returned  to  her  duties.  "  It's  of  no 
importance  to  anybody  whose  idea  it  was.  That's 
what  I  call  taking  trouble  for  nothing  !" 

"  If  you  believe  your  lie,  it's  no  longer  a  lie,"  an 
swered  Walter ;  "and  she  believes  hers.  A  quarter  of 
a  minute  after  a  thing  has  happened,  a  woman  can 
often  succeed  in  convincing  herself  that  it  happened 
not  quite  in  that  way,  but  in  another.  Then  she  tells 
it  in  her  way  forever  after." 

Chase  gave  a  yawn.  "  Well,  haven't  you  had 
about  enough  of  this  fool  business?"  he  said  to  his 
wife,  using  the  words  humorously. 

"  I  am  ready  to  go  whenever  you  like,"  she  an 
swered.  For  if  he  allowed  her  to  arrange  their  days 


187 


as  she  pleased,  she,  on  her  side,  always  yielded  to 
his  wishes  whenever  he  expressed  them. 

"  I'll  go  and  see  if  the  ponies  have  come,"  he  sug 
gested,  and  he  made  his  way  towards  the  gate. 

"  You  don't  give  us  a  very  nice  character,"  Ruth 
went  on  to  Walter. 

"  About  fibs,  do  you  mean  ?  I  only  said  that  you 
ladies  have  very  powerful  beliefs.  Proof  is  nothing  to 
you ;  faith  is  all.  There  is  another  odd  fact  connect 
ed  with  the  subject,  Mrs.  Chase,  and  that  is  that  an 
absolutely  veracious  woman,  one  who  tells  the  exact, 
bare,  cold  truth  on  all  occasions  and  nothing  more  ; 
who  never  exaggerates  or  is  tempted  to  exaggerate, 
by  even  a  hair's-breadth — who  is  never  conscious  that 
she  is  coloring  things  too  rosily  —  such  a  woman  is 
somehow  a  very  uninteresting  person  to  men  !  I 
can't  explain  it,  and  it  doesn't  seem  just.  But  it's  so. 
Women  of  that  sort  (for  they  exist — a  few  of  them) 
move  through  life  very  admirably ;  but  quite  with 
out  masculine  adorers."  Then  he  stopped  himself. 
"I'm  not  here,  however,  to  discuss  problems  with 
her,"  he  thought.  "  Several  hours  more  of  daylight ; 
let  me  see,  what  can  I  suggest  next  to  amuse  her  ?" 

This  young  man — he  was  twenty-seven—had  had 
an  intention  in  seeking  St.  Augustine  at  this  time ; 
he  wished  to  become  well  acquainted,  if  possible  in 
timate,  with  the  enterprising  member  of  his  uncle's 
firm.  He  had  some  money,  but  not  much.  His 
father,  the  elder  Walter,  had  been  the  one  black 
sheep  of  the  Willoughby  flock,  the  one  spendthrift 


188 


of  that  prudent  family  circle.  After  the  death  of  the 
prodigal,  Richard  and  Nicholas  had  befriended  the 
son ;  the  younger  Walter  was  a  graduate  of  Colum 
bia  ;  he  had  spent  eighteen  months  in  Europe ;  and 
when  not  at  college  or  abroad,  he  had  lived  with  his 
rich  uncles.  But  this  did  not  satisfy  him,  he  was  in 
tensely  ambitious ;  the  other  Willoughbys  had  no 
suspicion  of  the  reach  of  this  nephew's  plans.  For 
his  ambitions  extended  in  half  a  dozen  different  di 
rections,  whereas  what  might  have  been  called  the 
family  idea  had  moved  always  along  one  line.  Wal 
ter  had  more  taste  than  his  uncles ;  he  knew  a  good 
picture  when  he  saw  it ;  he  liked  good  architecture ; 
he  admired  a  well-bound  book.  But  these  things 
were  subordinate  ;  his  first  wish  was  to  be  rich  ;  that 
was  the  stepping-stone  to  all  the  rest.  As  his  uncles 
had  children,  he  could  not  expect  to  be  their  heir; 
but  he  had  the  advantage  of  the  name  and  the  rela 
tionship,  and  they  had  already  done  much  by  making 
him,  nominally  at  least,  a  junior  partner  in  this  new 
(comparatively  new)  firm  —  a  firm  which  was,  how 
ever,  but  one  of  their  interests.  The  very  first  time 
that  Walter  had  met  the  Chase  of  Willoughby  & 
Chase  he  had  made  up  his  mind  that  this  was  the 
person  he  needed,  the  person  to  give  him  a  lift. 
Richard  and  Nicholas  were  too  cautious,  too  conserv 
ative,  for  daring  enterprises,  for  outside  specula 
tions;  in  addition,  they  had  no  need  to  turn  to  things 
of  that  sort.  Their  nephew,  however,  was  in  a  hurry, 
and  here,  ready  to  his  hand,  appeared  a  man  of  re- 


189 


sources ;  a  man  who  had  made  one  fortune  in  a  bak 
ing-powder,  another  by  the  bold  purchase  of  three- 
quarters  of  an  uncertain  silver  mine,  a  third  by  spec 
ulation  on  a  large  scale  in  lumber,  while  a  fourth  was 
now  in  progress,  founded  (more  regularly)  in  steam 
ers.  At  present  also  there  was  a  rumor  that  he  had 
something  new  on  foot,  something  in  California ; 
Walter  had  an  ardent  desire  to  be  admitted  to  a  part 
in  this  Californian  enterprise,  whatever  it  might  be. 
But  Chase's  trip  to  Europe  had  delayed  any  progress 
he  might  have  hoped  for  in  this  direction,  just  as  it 
had  delayed  the  carrying  out  of  the  Asheville  specu 
lation.  The  Chases  had  returned  to  New  York  in 
November.  But  immediately  (for  it  had  seemed  im 
mediately  to  the  impatient  junior  partner)  Chase  had 
been  hurried  off  again,  this  time  to  Florida,  by  his 
silly  wife.  Walter  did  not  really  mean  that  Ruth 
was  silly ;  he  thought  her  pretty  and  amiable.  But 
as  she  was  gay,  restless,  fond  of  change,  she  had  in 
terfered  (unconsciously  of  course)  with  his  plans  and 
his  hopes  for  nearly  a  year ;  to  call  her  silly,  there 
fore,  was,  in  comparison,  a  mild  revenge.  "  What 
under  heaven  is  the  use  of  her  dragging  poor  Chase 
*  away  down  South  to  the  land  of  the  cotton,'  when 
she  has  already  kept  him  a  whole  summer  wandering 
about  Europe,"  he  had  said  to  himself,  discomfited, 
when  he  first  heard  of  the  proposed  Florida  journey. 
The  next  day  an  idea  came  to  him  :  "  Why  shouldn't 
I  go  also  ?  Chase  will  be  sure  to  bore  himself  to 
death  down  there,  with  nothing  in  the  world  to  do. 


190 


And  then  I  shall  be  on  hand  to  help  him  through  the 
eternal  sunshiny  days !  In  addition,  I  may  as  well 
try  to  make  myself  agreeable  to  his  gadding  wife ; 
for,  whether  she  knows  it  as  yet  or  not,  it  is  evident 
that  she  rules  the  roost."  lie  followed,  therefore. 
But  as  he  came  straight  to  Florida,  and  as  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Chase  had  stopped  en  route  at  Baltimore,  Wash 
ington,  Richmond,  Charleston,  and  Savannah,  Walter 
had  been  in  St.  Augustine  nearly  two  weeks  before 
they  arrived. 

So  far,  all  had  turned  out  as  he  had  hoped  it 
would.  This  was  not  surprising ;  for  young  Wil- 
loughby  was,  not  merely  in  manner,  but  also  in  reality, 
a  good-natured,  agreeable  fellow,  full  of  life,  fond  of 
amusement.  He  was  ambitious,  it  is  true.  But  he 
was  as  far  as  possible  from  being  a  drudging  money 
maker,  lie  meant  to  carry  out  his  plans,  but  he  also 
meant  to  enjoy  life  as  he  went  along.  He  had  no 
ticed,  even  as  far  back  as  the  time  of  the  wedding, 
that  the  girl  whom  Horace  Chase  was  to  marry  had 
in  her  temperament  both  indolence  and  activity  ;  now 
one  of  these  moods  predominated,  now  the  other. 
As  soon,  therefore,  as  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Chase  were  es 
tablished  in  their  St.  Augustine  house,  he  let  himself 
go.  Whenever  the  young  wife's  mood  for  activity- 
appeared  to  be  uppermost,  he  opened  a  door  for  it ; 
he  proposed  an  excursion,  an  entertainment  of  some 
sort.  Already,  under  his  leadership,  they  had  sailed 
down  the  Matanzas  River  (as  the  inlet  is  called)  to 
see  the  old  Spanish  lookout ;  they  had  rowed  up 


Moultrie  Creek ;  they  had  sent  horses  across  to  Anas- 
tasia  Island  and  had  galloped  for  miles  southward 
down  the  hard  ocean  beach.  They  had  explored  the 
barrens  ;  they  had  had  a  bear-hunt ;  they  had  camped 
out ;  they  had  caught  sharks.  On  these  occasions 
they  had  always  been  a  party  of  at  least  four,  and 
often  of  seven,  when  Mrs.  Franklin  and  Dolly,  Mrs. 
Kip  and  Commodore  Etheridge  joined  in  the  excur 
sion.  Dolly  in  particular  had  surprised  everybody 
by  her  unexpected  strength ;  she  had  accompanied 
them  whenever  it  had  been  possible.  When  it  was 
not,  she  had  urged  her  mother  to  take  the  vacant 
place.  "Do  go,  His  Grand,  so  that  you  can  tell  me 
about  it.  For  it  does  amuse  me  so  !" 

Walter's  latest  inspiration,  the  ball  at  Andalusia, 
having  been  arranged,  he  now  suggested  that  they 
should  slip  out  unobserved  and  finish  the  afternoon 
with  a  sail.  "  I  noticed  the  Owl  and  the  Pussycat 
moored  at  the  pier  as  we  came  by,"  he  said.  "  If 
she  is  still  there,  Paul  Archer  is  at  the  club,  probably, 
and  I  can  easily  borrow  her." 

"  Anything  to  get  away  from  these  Apaches," 
Chase  answered.  "  And  I'm  a  good  deal  afraid,  too, 
of  that  Evangeline  Taylor !  She  has  asked  me  three 
times,  with  such  a  voice  from  the  tombs,  if  I  feel 
well  to-day,  that  she  has  turned  me  stiff." 

"  Why  on  earth  does  that  girl  make  such  awful 
faces  2"  inquired  Walter. 

Ruth  gave  way  to  laughter.  "  I  can  never  make 
you  two  believe  it,  but  it  is  really  her  deep  sense  of 


192 


duty.  She  thinks  that  she  ought  to  look  earnest,  or 
intelligent,  or  grateful,  or  whatever  it  may  be,  and  so 
she  constantly  tries  new  ways  to  do  it." 

"What  way  is  it  when  she  glares  at  a  fellow's 
collar  for  fifteen  minutes  steadily,"  said  Walter;  "at 
close  range  ?" 

"  She  never  did  !"  protested  Ruth. 

« Yes — in  the  tea-room  ;  my  collar.  And  every 
now  and  then  she  gave  a  ghastly  smile." 

"  She  didn't  know  it  was  your  collar ;  she  was 
simply  fixing  her  eyes  upon  a  point  in  space,  as  less 
embarrassing  than  looking  about.  And  she  smiled 
because  she  thought  she  ought  to,  as  it  is  a  party." 

"  A  point  in  space  !    My  collar  !"  grumbled  Walter. 

At  the  gate  they  looked  back  for  a  moment.  The 
guests,  nearly  a  hundred  in  number,  had  gathered  in 
a  semicircle  under  a  live-oak ;  they  were  gazing  with 
fresh  interest  at  the  Indians,  who  had  been  drawn  up 
before  them.  The  six  redskins  were  still  in  as  close 
a  row  as  though  they  had  been  handcuffed  together ; 
the  serious  spinsters  had  failed  entirely  in  their  at 
tempts  to  break  the  rank,  and  have  a  gentle  word 
with  one  or  two  of  them,  apart.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Har 
rison,  who  was  to  make  an  address,  now  advanced 
and  began  to  speak ;  the  listeners  at  the  gate  could 
hear  his  voice,  though  they  were  too  far  off  to  catch 
the  words.  The  voice  would  go  on  for  a  minute  or 
two,  and  pause.  Then  would  follow  the  more  stac 
cato  accents  of  the  interpreter. 

"  The  horse-joke  comes  in,  Walter,  when  that  in- 


193 


terpretcr  begins,"  said  Chase.     "  Who  knows  what 
he  is  saying  ?" 

The  interpreter,  however,  made  a  very  good  speech. 
It  was,  perhaps,  less  spiritual  than  Mr.  Harrison's. 

It  turned  out  afterwards  that  the  thing  which  had 
made  the  deepest  impression  upon  the  Apaches  was 
not  the  "lady's  quiet  home,"  nor  the  Sunday-school 
teachers,  nor  the  cabinet-organ,  nor  even  the  dinner; 
it  was  the  extraordinary  length  of  "the  young-squaw- 
with-her-head-in-the-sky,"  as  they  designated  Evan- 
geline  Taylor. 

Ruth  drove  her  ponies  down  to  the  Basin.  The 
little  yacht  called  the  Owl  and  the  Pussycat  was 
still  moored  at  the  pier  ;  but  Paul  Archer,  her  owner, 
was  not  at  the  club,  as  Walter  had  supposed ;  he  had 
gone  to  the  Florida  House  to  call  upon  some  friends. 
Commodore  Etheridge  was  in  the  club-room ;  he  was 
forcing  himself  to  stay  away  from  Andalusia,  for  he 
had  an  alarming  vision  of  its  mistress,  dressed  in 
white,  with  the  sunshine  lighting  up  her  sea-shell 
complexion  and  bringing  out,  amorously,  the  rich 
tints  of  her  hair.  Delighted  to  have  something  to 
do,  he  immediately  took  charge  of  Walter. 

"  Write  a  line,  Mr.  Willoughby ;  write  a  line  on 
your  card,  and  our  porter  shall  take  it  to  the  Florida 
House  at  once.  In  the  meanwhile  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Chase  can  wait  here.  Not  a  bad  place  to  wait  in, 
Mrs.  Chase  ?  Simple,  you  see.  Close  to  nature. 
And  nature's  great  restorer  "  (for  two  of  the  club 
men  were  asleep). 

13 


194 


The  room  was  close  to  restorers  of  all  sorts,  for 
tlie  land  front  was  let  to  a  druggist.  The  house 
stood  on  the  wooden  pier  facing  the  little  Plaza, 
across  whose  grassy  space  the  old  Spanish  cathedral 
and  the  more  modern  Episcopal  church  eyed  each 
other  without  rancour.  The  Plaza's  third  side  was 
occupied  by  the  post-office,  which  had  once  been  the 
residence  of  the  Spanish  governor. 

The  club-room  was  a  large,  pleasant  apartment, 
with  windows  and  verandas  overlooking  the  water. 
There  was  a  general  straightening  up  of  lounging  at 
titudes  when  Mrs.  Chase  came  in.  Etheridge  had 
already  introduced  Horace  Chase  to  everybody  at 
the  club,  and  Chase,  in  his  turn,  had  introduced  al 
most  everybody  to  his  wife.  The  club,  to  a  man, 
admired  Mrs.  Chase;  while  she  waited,  therefore, 
she  held  a  little  court.  The  commodore,  meanwhile, 
kindly  took  upon  himself,  as  usual,  the  duty  of  en 
tertaining  the  Bubble. 

"  Mr.  Willoughby  need  not  have  gone  to  the  Flor 
ida  House  in  person ;  our  porter  could  perfectly 
well  have  taken  a  note,  as  I  suggested.  Capital 
fellow,  our  porter ;  I  never  come  South,  Mr.  Chase, 
without  being  struck  afresh  with  the  excellence  of 
the  negroes  as  servants ;  they  arc  the  best  in  the 
world  ;  they're  born  for  it !" 

"  That's  all  right,  if  they're  willing,"  Chase  an 
swered.  "  But  not  to  force  'em,  you  know.  That 
slave-market  in  the  Plaza,  now — " 

"  Oh  Lord  !    Slave-market !      Have  you  got  hold 


195 


of  that  story  too  ?"  interposed  Etheridge,  irritably. 
"  It  was  never  anything  but  a  fish-market  in  its  life  ! 
But  I'm  tired  of  explaining  it ;  that,  and  the  full- 
length  skeleton  hanging  by  its  neck  in  an  iron  cage 
in  the  underground  dungeon  at  the  fort  —  if  they're 
not  true,  they  ought  to  be  ;  that's  what  people  ap 
pear  to  think !  '  Si  non  ee  veero,  ee  ben  trovatoroj 
as  the  Italians  say.  And  speaking  of  the  fort,  I 
suppose  you  have  been  to  that  ridiculous  Indian 
party  at  Andalusia  to  -  day  ?  Mrs.  Kip  must  have 
looked  grotesque,  out-of-doors  ?  In  white  too,  I 
dare  say  ?" 

"  Grotesque  ?   Why,  she's  pretty,"  answered  Chase. 

"  Not  to  my  eye,"  responded  Etheridge,  deter 
minedly.  "  She  has  the  facial  outlines  of  a  frog. 
Do  you  know  the  real  reason  why  I  didn't  marry  ? 
I  couldn't  endure,  sir,  the  prospect  of  an  old  wom 
an's  face  opposite  mine  at  table  year  after  year. 
For  our  women  grow  old  so  soon  — " 

As  he  brought  this  out,  a  dim  remembrance  of 
having  said  it  to  Horace  Chase  before  came  into  his 
mind.  Had  he,  or  had  he  not  ?  Chase's  face  be 
trayed  nothing.  If  he  had,  what  the  devil  did  the 
fellow  mean  by  not  answering  naturally,  "  Yes,  you 
told  me?"  Could  it  be  possible  that  he,  Anthony 
Etheridge,  had  fallen  into  a  habit  of  repeating?  — 
So  that  people  were  accustomed —  ?  He  went  off 
and  pretended  to  look  at  a  file  of  porpoises,  who 
were  going  out  to  sea  in  a  long  line,  like  so  many 
fat  dark  wheels  rolling  through  the  water. 


196 


Chase,  left  alone,  took  up  a  newspaper.  But  al 
most  immediately  lie  threw  it  down,  saying,  "Well, 
I  didn't  expect  to  see  you  here  !" 

The  person  whom  he  addressed  was  a  stranger, 
who  came  in  at  this  moment,  brought  by  a  member 
of  the  club.  He  shook  hands  with  Chase,  and  they 
talked  together  for  a  while.  Then  Chase  crossed 
the  room,  and,  smiling  a  little  as  he  noted  the  semi 
circle  round  his  wife,  he  asked  her  to  come  out  and 
walk  up  and  down  the  pier  while  they  waited  for 
Willoughby.  Once  outside,  he  said  : 

"  Ruthie,  I  want  to  have  a  talk  with  Patterson, 
that  man  you  saw  come  in  just  now.  I'm  not  very 
keen  about  sailing,  anyhow.  Will  you  let  me  off 
this  time  ?" 

"  Oh  yes ;  I  don't  care  about  going,"  Ruth  an 
swered. 

"You  needn't  give  it  up  because  I  do,"  said  her 
husband,  kindly;  "you  like  to  sail.  Take  the  an 
cient  swell  in  my  place.  He  will  be  delighted  to  go, 
for  it  will  make  him  appear  so  young.  Just  Ruth,  An 
thony,  and  Walter — three  gay  little  chums  together  !" 

As  Chase  had  predicted,  the  commodore  professed 
himself  "  enchanted."  He  went  off  smilingly  in 
Paul  Archer's  yacht,  whose  device  of  an  owl  and 
pussycat  confounded  the  practically  minded,  while 
to  the  initiated  —  the  admirers  of  those  immortal 
honey-mooners  who  "  ate  with  a  runcible  spoon  " — 
it  gave  delight ;  a  glee  which  was  increased  by  the 
delicate  pea-green  hue  of  the  pretty  little  craft. 


197 


But  in  spite  of  his  enchantment,  the  commodore 
soon  brought  the  boat  back.  He  had  taken  the 
helm,  and,  when  he  had  shown  himself  and  his 
young  companions  to  everybody  on  the  sea-wall; 
when  he  had  dashed  past  the  old  fort ;  and  then, 
putting  about,  had  gone  beating  across  the  inlet  to 
the  barracks,  he  turned  the  prow  towards  the  yacht 
club  again.  It  was  the  hour  for  his  afternoon  whist, 
and  he  never  let  anything  interfere  with  that. 

The  excursion,  therefore,  had  been  a  short  one, 
and,  as  Walter  walked  home  with  Mrs.  Chase,  she 
lingered  a  little.  "  It's  too  early  to  go  in,"  she  de 
clared.  As  they  passed  the  second  pier,  a  dilapi 
dated  construction  with  its  flooring  gone,  she  espied 
a  boat  she  knew.  "  There  is  the  Shearwater  just 
coming  in.  I  am  sure  Mr.  Kean  would  lend  it  to  us. 
Don't  you  want  to  go  out  again  ?" 

The  Shearwater  was  an  odd  little  craft,  flat  on  the 
water,  with  a  long,  pointed,  covered  prow  and  one 
large  sail.  Ruth  knew  it  well,  for  Mr.  Kean  was  an 
old  friend  of  the  Franklin's,  and,  in  former  winters, 
he  had  often  taken  her  out. 

"  My  object  certainly  is  to  please  her,"  Walter 
said  to  himself.  "  But  she  does  keep  one  busy. 
Well,  here  goes !" 

Mr.  Kean  lent  his  boat,  and  presently  they  were 
off  again. 

"  Take  me  as  far  as  the  old  light-house,"  Ruth 
suggested. 

"  Easy  enough  going ;  but  the  getting  back  will 


198 


be  another  matter,"  Walter  answered.     "  We  should 
have  to  tack" 

"  I  like  tacking.  I  insist  upon  the  light-house," 
Mrs.  Chase  replied,  gayly. 

The  little  boat  glided  rapidly  past  the  town  and 
San  Marco ;  then  turned  towards  the  sea.  For  the 
old  light-house,  an  ancient  Spanish  beacon,  was  on 
the  ocean  side  of  Anastasia. 

"  We  can  see  it  now.  Isn't  this  far  enough  ?" 
Walter  asked,  after  a  while. 

"  No ;  take  me  to  the  very  door;  I've  made  a  vow 
to  go,"  Ruth  declared. 

"  But  at  this  rate  we  shall  never  get  back.  And 
when  we  do,  your  husband,  powerfully  hungry  for 
his  delayed  dinner,  will  be  sharpening  the  carving- 
knife  on  the  sea-wall !" 

"  He  is  more  likely  to  be  sharpening  pencils  at  the 
Magnolia.  He  is  sure  to  be  late  himself ;  in  fact,  he 
told  me  so  ;  for  he  has  business  matters  to  talk  over 
with  that  Mr.  Patterson." 

Walter  had  not  known,  until  now,  the  name  of 
the  person  who  had  carried  off  Chase ;  he  had  sup 
posed  that  it  was  some  ordinary  acquaintance ;  he 
had  no  idea  that  it  was  the  Chicago  man  whose 
name  he  had  heard  mentioned  in  connection  with 
Chase's  California  interests.  "  David  Patterson,  of 
Chicago  ?"  he  asked.  "  Is  he  going  to  stay  ?" 

"  No ;  he  leaves  to-morrow  morning,  I  believe," 
replied  Ruth,  in  an  uninterested  tone. 

"  And   here   I  am,  sailing  all   over  creation  with 


199 


tliis  insatiable  girl,  when,  if  I  had  remained  at  the 
club,  perhaps  Chase  would  have  introduced  me ;  per 
haps  I  might  even  have  been  with  them  now  at  the 
Magnolia,"  Walter  reflected,  with  intense  annoyance. 

At  last  she  allowed  him  to  put  about.  The  sun 
was  sinking  out  of  sight.  Presently  the  after-glow 
gave  a  second  daylight  of  deep  gold.  Down  in  the 
south  the  dark  line  of  the  dense  forest  rose  like  a 
range  of  hills.  The  perfume  from  the  orange  groves 
floated  seaward  and  filled  the  air. 

"  I  used  to  believe  that  I  liked  riding  better  than 
anything,"  remarked  Ruth.  "  But  ever  since  that 
little  rush  we  had  together  in  the  dugout  —  do  you 
remember?  the  night  we  arriveTl  ? — ever  since  then, 
somehow,  sailing  has  seemed  more  delicious !  For 
one  thing,  it's  lazier." 

They  were  seated  opposite  each  other  in  the  small 
open  space,  Walter  holding  the  helm  with  one  hand, 
while  with  the  other  he  managed  the  sail,  and  Ruth 
leaning  back  against  the  miniature  deck.  Presently 
she  began  to  sing,  softly,  Schubert's  music  set  to 
Shakespeare's  words : 

*'  '  Hark  !    hark  !   the  lark  at  heaven's   gate  sings, 
And  Phoebus  'gins  arise — '  " 

"Not  the  lark  already?"  asked  Walter. 

He  was  exerting  all  his  skill,  but  their  progress 
was  slow ;  the  Shearwater  crossed  and  recrossed, 
crossed  and  recrossed,  gaining  but  a  few  feet  in  each 
transit. 


200 

"  '  Arise  !   arise  ! 
My  lady  sweet,  arise  !'  '' 

sang  Eutli. 

"  Do  you  think  I  could  get  a  rise  out  of  those 
Minorcans  ?"  suggested  her  companion,  indicating  a 
fishing-boat  at  a  little  distance.  "  Perhaps  they  could 
lend  me  some  oars.  I  was  a  great  fool  to  come  out 
without  them  !" 

"  Oh,  don't  get  oars ;  that  would  spoil  it.  The 
tide  has  turned,  and  the  wind  is  dying  down  ;  we  can 
float  slowly  in.  Everything  is  exactly  right,  and  I 
am  perfectly  happy  !" 

Walter,  his  mind  haunted  by  that  vision  of  Chase 
and  Patterson  at  the  Magnolia,  did  not  at  first  take 
in  what  she  had  said.  Then,  a  minute  or  two  after 
wards,  her  phrase  returned  to  him,  and  he  smiled  ;  it 
seemed  so  naive.  "  It's  delightful,  in  a  discontented 
world,  to  hear  you  say  that,  Mrs.  Chase.  Is  it  gen 
erally,  or  in  particular,  that  you  are  so  blissful  ?  St. 
Augustine  ?  or  life  as  a  whole  ?" 

"  Both,"  replied  Ruth,  promptly.  "  For  I  have 
everything  I  like — and  I  like  so  many  things  !  And 
everybody  does  whatever  I  want  them  to  do.  Why, 
you  yourself,  Mr.  Willoughby  !  Because  I  love  to 
dance,  you  have  arranged  that  ball  for  to-morrow 
night.  And  when  I  asked  you  to  take  me  out  this 
second  time  in  the  Shearwater,  you  did  it  at  once." 

"  Ah,  my  lady,  with  your  blue  eyes  and  dark  lashes, 
you  little  know  why  !"  thought  Walter,  with  an  in 
ward  laugh. 


201 


At  last  he  got  the  boat  up  to  the  dilapidated  pier 
again.  It  was  long  after  dark.  He  took  her  to  her 
door,  and  left  her ;  she  must  explain  her  late  arrival 
in  her  own  way.  Women,  fortunately,  are  excellent 
at  explanations. 

But  Chase  was  not  there. 

Twenty  minutes  afterwards  he  came  in,  late  in  his 
turn.  "  You  didn't  have  dinner,  Kuthie  ?  I'm  sorry 
you  waited  ;  I  was  detained." 

"  I  was  very  late  myself,"  Ruth  answered. 

"Even  now  I  can't  stay," Chase  went  on, hurriedly ; 
"  I  came  back  to  tell  you,  and  to  get  a  few  things.  I 
am  going  up  to  Savannah  with  Patterson  for  three  or 
four  days,  on  business.  We  are  to  have  a  special — a 
mule  special — this  evening,  and  hit  a  steamer.  You'd 
better  have  your  mother  to  stay  with  you  while  I'm 
away." 

"  Yes.     To-morrow." 

"  She  could  come  to-night,  couldn't  she  ?" 

"Yes;  but  it's  late;  I  won't  make  her  turn  out  to 
night.  With  seven  servants  in  the  house,  I  am  not 
afraid,"  Ruth  answered. 

"  I  only  thought  you  might  be  lonely  ?" 

"  I'll  sing  all  my  songs  to  Petie  Trone,  Esq.  " 

He  laughed  and  kissed  her. 

"You  must  come  back  soon,"  she  said. 

When  he  had  gone  she  went  up-stairs  and  changed 
her  dress  for  a  long,  loose  costume  of  pale  pink  tint, 
covered  with  lace  ;  then,  returning,  she  rang  for  din 
ner.  Here,  as  in  New  York,  there  was  a  housekeeper, 


202 


who  relieved  the  young  wife  of  all  care.  The  dinner, 
in  spite  of  the  long  postponement,  was  excellent ;  it 
was  also  dainty,  for  the  housekeeper  had  learned 
Mrs.  Chase's  tastes.  Mrs.  Chase  enjoyed  it.  She 
drank  a  glass  of  wine,  and  dallied  over  the  sweets  and 
the  fruit.  Afterwards,  in  the  softly  lighted  drawing- 
room,  she  amused  herself  by  singing  half  a  dozen 
songs.  Petie  Trone,  Esq.,  the  supposed  audience, 
was  not  fond  of  music,  though  the  songs  were  sweet ; 
he  slinked  out,  and  going  softly  up  the  stairs,  de 
posited  himself  of  his  own  accord  in  his  basket  be 
hind  the  cheval-glass  in  the  dressing-room.  At 
eleven  his  mistress  came  up ;  she  let  Felicite  un 
dress  her,  and  brush  with  skilful  touch  the  long, 
thick  mass  of  her  hair.  When  the  maid  had  gone, 
she  read  a  little,  leaning  back  in  an  easy -chair, 
with  a  shaded  lamp  beside  her ;  then,  letting  the 
novel  slip  down  on  her  lap,  she  sat  there,  looking 
about  the  room.  Miss  Billy  Breeze  had  marvelled 
over  the  luxurious  toilet  table  at  L'Hommedieu ;  here 
the  whole  room  was  like  that  table.  Presently  its 
occupant  put  out  her  hand,  and  drew  towards  her  a 
small  stand  which  held  her  jewel-box.  For  she  al 
ready  had  jewels,  as  Chase  liked  to  buy  them  for  her. 
He  would  have  covered  his  wife  with  diamonds  if 
Mrs.  Franklin  had  not  said  (during  that  first  visit  at 
Asheville  after  the  marriage),  "  Ruth  is  too  young  to 
wear  diamonds,  Mr.  Chase ;  don't  you  think  so  ?" 
Chase  did  not  think  so ;  but  he  had  deferred  to  her 
opinion — at  least,  he  supposed  himself  to  be  defer- 


203 


ring  to  it  when  lie  bought  only  rubies  and  sapphires 
and  pearls.  His  wife  now  turned  over  these  orna 
ments.  She  put  on  the  pearl  necklace ;  then  she 
took  it  off,  and  held  it  against  her  cheek.  But  she 
did  not  spend  as  much  time  as  usual  over  the  jewels. 
Often  she  entertained  herself  with  them  for  an  hour ; 
it  had  been  one  of  her  husband's  amusements  to 
watch  her.  To-night,  putting  the  case  aside,  she 
strolled  to  the  window,  opened  it  and  looked  out. 
The  stars  were  shining  brilliantly  overhead;  she 
could  hear  the  soft  lapping  of  the  water  against  the 
sea-wall.  From  Anastasia  came  at  intervals  the  flash 
of  the  light-house.  "  I  was  over  there  at  sunset," 
she  said  to  herself  as  she  watched  the  gleam.  Then 
closing  the  window,  she  walked  idly  to  and  fro,  with 
her  hands  clasped  behind  her.  "  How  happy  I  am  !" 
she  thought ;  or  rather  she  did  not  think  it,  she  felt 
it.  She  had  no  desire  to  sleep ;  the  door  of  the 
bedroom  stood  open  behind  her,  but  she  did  not  go 
in.  She  sat  down  on  the  divan,  and  let  her  head  fall 
back  among  the  cushions:  "Everything  is  perfect — 
perfect.  How  delightful  it  is  to  live  1" 


CHAPTER   X 

Two  days  after  the  Indian  party  at  Andalusia, 
the  excursion  which  Mrs.  Kip  had  called  a  "  boat- 
drive  "  came  off.  Horace  Chase  was  still  absent ;  he 
had  telegraphed  to  his  wife  that  he  could  not  return 
before  the  last  of  the  week.  As  all  the  preparations 
had  been  made,  the  excursion  was  not  postponed  on 
his  account.  Nor  was  there  any  reason  why  it 
should  be.  It  was  not  given  in  honor  of  his  wife, 
especially ;  Ruth,  after  sixteen  months  of  marriage, 
could  hardly  be  called  a  bride.  In  addition,  the  lit 
tle  winter  colony  had  learned  that  an  hour  or  two  of 
their  leisurely  pleasure-making  was  about  as  much 
as  this  man  of  affairs  could  enjoy  (some  persons  said 
"could  endure");  after  that  his  face  was  apt  to  be 
tray  a  vague  boredom,  although  it  was  evident  that 
(with  his  usual  careful  politeness)  he  was  trying  to 
conceal  it. 

Walter  Willoughby,  meanwhile,  was  making  the 
best  of  an  annoying  situation.  He  had  lost  the 
chance  of  being  introduced  to  David  Patterson,  and 
with  it  the  opportunity  of  learning  something  definite, 
at  last,  about  Chase's  Californian  interests,  and  this 
seemed  to  him  a  great  misfortune.  But  there  was 
no  use  in  moaning  over  it ;  the  course  to  follow  was 


205 


not  still  further  to  lose  the  five  days  of  Chase's  ab 
sence  in  sulking,  but  to  employ  them  in  the  only 
profitable  way  that  was  left  open  (small  profit,  but 
better  than  nothing) — namely,  in  cementing  still  fur 
ther  a  friendly  feeling  between  himself  and  Chase's 
wife,  that  butterfly  young  wife  who  had  been  the 
cause  of  so  many  of  his  disappointments.  "  Every 
little  helps,  I  suppose,"  he  said  to  himself,  philo 
sophically.  "And  as  the  thing  she  likes  best,  appar 
ently,  is  to  go  and  keep  going,  why,  I'll  take  her 
own  pace  and  outrace  her  —  the  little  gad-about!" 
For,  to  Walter's  eyes,  Ruth  appeared  very  young  ; 
mentally  unformed  as  yet,  child-like.  His  adjective 
"  little  "  could,  in  truth,  only  be  applied  to  her  in 
this  sense,  for  in  actual  inches  Mrs.  Chase  was  al 
most  as  tall  as  he  was.  Walter  was  of  medium 
height,  robust  and  compact.  lie  had  a  well-shaped, 
well-poised  head,  which  joined  his  strong  neck  be 
hind  with  no  hollow  and  scarcely  a  curve.  His  thick, 
dark  hair  was  kept  very  short;  but,  with  his  full 
temples  and  facial  outlines,  this  curt  fashion  became 
him  well.  He  was  not  called  handsome,  though  his 
features  were  clearly  cut  and  firm.  His  gray  eyes 
were  ordinarily  rather  cold.  But  when  he  was  ani 
mated — and  he  was  usually  very  animated — young 
Willoughby  looked  full  of  life.  He  was  fond  of 
pleasure,  fond  of  amusement.  But  this  did  not  pre 
vent  his  possessing,  underneath  the  surface,  a  reso 
lute  will,  which  he  could  enforce  against  himself  as 
well  as  against  others.  He  intended  to  enjoy  life. 


206 


And  as,  according  to  his  idea,  there  could  be  no  last 
ing  enjoyment  without  freedom  from  the  pinch  of 
anxiety  about  material  things,  he  also  intended  to 
get  money — first  of  all  to  get  money.  "For  a  few 
years,  while  one  is  young,  to  have  small  means 
doesn't  so  much  matter,"  he  had  told  himself.  "  But 
when  one  reaches  middle  age,  or  passes  it,  then,  if 
one  has  children,  care  inevitably  steps  in.  There  are 
anxieties,  of  course,  which  cannot  be  prevented.  But 
this  particular  one  can  be — with  a  certain  amount  of 
energy,  and  also  of  resolute  self-control  in  the  be 
ginning.  The  '  have -a-good- time -while -you -arc- 
young'  policy  doesn't  compensate  for  having  a  bad 
time  when  you  are  old,  in  my  opinion.  And  it's  care 
that  makes  one  old  !" 

Horace  Chase  had  left  St.  Augustine  on  Monday. 
The  next  evening,  at  Mrs.  Kip's  impromptu  ball  in 
the  gymnasium,  the  junior  partner  of  -Willoughby, 
Chase,  &  Company  devoted  his  time  to  Mrs.  Chase 
with  much  skill.  His  attentions  remained  unobtru 
sive;  he  did  not  dance  with  her  often.  The  latter,  in 
deed,  would  not  have  been  possible  in  any  case ;  for 
Mrs.  Chase  was  surrounded,  from  first  to  last,  by  all 
that  St.  Augustine  could  offer.  Graceful  as  she  was 
in  all  her  movements,  Ruth's  dancing  was  particu 
larly  charming.  And  it  was  also  striking ;  for,  sin 
uous,  lithe,  soon  excited,  she  danced  because  she 
loved  it,  danced  with  unconscious  abandon.  That 
night,  her  slender  figure  in  the  white  ball  dress,  that 
floated  backward  in  the  rapid  motion,  her  happy  face 


207 


with  the  starry  eyes  and  beautiful  color  coming*  and 
going — this  made  a  picture  which  those  who  were 
present  remembered  long.  At  ten  o'clock  she  had 
begun  to  dance ;  at  two,  when  many  persons  were 
taking  leave,  she  was  still  on  the  floor  ;  with  her  cir 
cle  of  admirers,  it  was  now  Mrs.  Chase  who  was 
keeping  up  the  ball.  Her  mother,  who  was  staying 
with  her  during  her  husband's  absence,  had  accom 
panied  her  to  Andalusia.  But  there  was  no  need  to 
ask  whether  Mrs.  Franklin  was  tired ;  Mrs.  Franklin 
was  never  tired  in  scenes  of  gayety  ;  she  was  as  well 
entertained  as  her  daughter.  Walter  had  danced  but 
twice  with  Mrs.  Chase  during  the  four  hours.  But 
always  between  her  dances  he  had  been  on  hand.  If 
she  had  a  fancy  for  spending  a  few  moments  on  the 
veranda,  he  had  her  white  cloak  ready ;  if  she  wished 
for  an  ice,  it  appeared  by  magic  ;  if  there  was  any 
one  she  did  not  care  to  dance  with,  she  could  always 
say  that  she  wras  engaged  to  Mr.Willoughby.  It  was 
in  this  way,  in  fact,  that  Mr.  Willoughby  had  ob 
tained  his  two  dances.  The  last  dance,  however, .was 
all  his  own.  It  was  three  o'clock ;  even  the  most 
good-natured  chaperons  had  collected  their  charges, 
and  the  music  had  ceased.  "  How  sorry  I  am  !  I  do 
so  long  for  just  one  waltz  more,"  said  Ruth. 

She  spoke  to  her  mother,  but  "Walter  overheard  the 
words.  He  went  across  to  the  musicians  (in  reality 
he  bribed  them) ;  then  returning,  he  said :  "  I've  ar 
ranged  it,  Mrs.  Chase.  You  are  to  have  that  one 
waltz  more."  A  few  of  the  young  people,  tempted 


208 


by  the  revived  strains,  threw  aside  their  wraps  and 
joined  them,  but  practically  they  had  the  floor  to 
themselves.  Walter  was  an  expert  dancer,  skilful 
and  strong  ;  he  bore  his  partner  down  the  long  room, 
guiding  her  so  securely  that  she  was  not  obliged  to 
think  of  their  course ;  she  could  leave  that  entirely 
to  him,  and  give  herself  up  to  the  enjoyment  of  the 
motion.  As  they  returned  towards  the  music  for 
the  third  time,  she  supposed  that  he  would  stop. 
But  he  did  hot ;  he  swept  her  down  again,  and  in 
shorter  circles  that  made  her,  light  as  she  was  on  her 
feet,  a  little  giddy.  "  Isn't  this  enough  ?"  she  asked. 
But  apparently  he  did  not  hear  her.  The  floor  be 
gan  to  spin.  "  Please  stop,"  she  murmured,  her  eyes 
half  closing  from  the  increasing  dizziness.  But  her 
partner  kept  on  until  he  felt  that  she  was  faltering  ; 
then,  with  a  final  bewildering  whirl,  he  deposited  her 
safely  on  a  bench,  and  stood  beside  her,  laughing  a 
little. 

There  was  no  one  near  them  ;  Mrs.  Franklin,  Mrs. 
Kip,  and  the  few  who  still  remained,  were  at  the 
other  end  of  the  room.  Ruth,  after  a  moment,  be 
gan  to  laugh  also,  while  she  pressed  her  hands  over 
her  eyes  to  help  herself  see  more  clearly.  "  What 
possessed  you  ?"  she  said.  "  Another  instant  and 
I  should  certainly  have  fallen ;  I  couldn't  see  a 
thing  !" 

"  No,  you  wouldn't  have  fallen,  Mrs.  Chase ;  I 
could  have  held  you  up  under  any  circumstances. 
But  I  wanted  to  make  you  for  once  acknowledge 


209 


that  we  are  not  all  so  lethargic  as  you  constantly  ac 
cuse  us  of  being." 

"Accuse?"  said  Ruth,  surprised  She  was  still 
panting. 

"  Yes,  you  accuse  the  whole  world ;  you  do  noth 
ing  but  accuse.  You  are  never  preoccupied  your 
self,  and  so  preoccupation  in  others  seems  to  you 
stupidity.  You  are  never  tired ;  so  the  rest  of  us 
strike  you  as  owlish  and  lazy." 

"  Oh,  but  I'm  often  lazy  myself,"  protested  Ruth. 

"  Precisely.  No  doubt  when  you  go  in  for  being 
lazy  at  all,  you  carry  it  further  than  any  poor,  dull, 
reasonable  man  would  ever  dream  of  doing,"  Walter 
went  on.  "  I  dare  say  you  are  capable  of  lying  mo 
tionless  on  a  sofa,  with  a  novel,  for  ten  hours  at  a 
stretch  !" 

"Ten  hours?  That's  nothing.  Ten  days,"  an 
swered  Ruth.  "  I  have  spent  ten  days  at  L'Homme- 
dieu  in  that  way  many  a  time  ;  Maud  Muriel  used  to 
call  it  '  lucid  stupor.'  " 

"Lucid?"  said  Walter,  doubtfully.  "Do  you 
think  you  can  walk?"  he  went  on,  as  her  mirth  still 
continued.  "  Because  the  music  really  has  stopped 
this  time,  and  I  see  your  mother's  eyes  turning  this 
way.  Your  laughs  are  perfectly  beautiful,  of  course. 
But  do  they  leave  you  your  walking  powers  ?" 

The  musicians,  seeing  them  rise,  began  suddenly 
to  play  again  (for  his  bribe  had  been  a  generous  one), 
and  he  took  her  back  to  her  mother  in  a  rapid  deux 
temps. 

14 


210 


"  Splendid  !  I  like  dancing  better  than  anything 
else  in  the  world,"  Ruth  declared. 

"  I  thought  it  was  sailing  ?  However,  whatever  it 
is,  please  make  use  of  me  often,  Mrs.  Chase.  When 
I've  nothing  to  do  I  become  terribly  low-spirited : 
for  my  uncles  are  bent  upon  marrying  me  !" 

"  Have  they  selected  any  special  person  ?"  inquired 
Mrs.  Franklin,  laughing,  as  he  helped  her  to  put  on 
her  cloak. 

"  I  think  they  have  their  eye  on  a  widow,  a  widow 
of  thirty-seven  with  a  fortune,"  answered  AValter, 
with  exaggerated  gloom. 

"  Will  she  have  you  ?" 

"  Never  in  the  world  !"  AValter  declared  ;  "  that's 
just  it !  Why,  therefore,  should  my  uncles  force  me 
forward  —  such  a  tender  flower  as  I  am  —  to  certain 
defeat  ?  It  is  on  that  account  that  I  have  run  away. 
I  have  come  to  hide  in  Florida  —  under  your  protec 
tion,  Mrs.  Chase." 

The  meeting-place  for  the  water-party  the  next  day 
was  St.  Francis  Barracks — the  long,  brown  structure 
with  pointed  gables  and  deep  shady  verandas,  which 
stood  on  the  site  of  an  old  Spanish  monastery,  at  the 
south  end  of  the  sea-wall.  The  troops  stationed  at 
St.  Francis  that  winter  belonged  to  the  First  Artil- 

O 

lory ;  to-day  the  colonel  and  his  family,  the  captain 
and  his  wife,  and  the  two  handsome  lieutenants 
took  part  in  the  excursion ;  there  were  fifty  people 
in  all,  and  many  yachts,  from  the  big  Scminole  down 
to  the  little  Shearwater.  Walter  had  The  Owl  and 


211 


the  Pussycat,  and  with  him  embarked  Mrs.  Franklin 
with  her  two  daughters,  Miss  Franklin  and  Mrs. 
Chase  ;  Mrs.  Lilian  Kip  ;  and  Commodore  Etheridge. 
At  two  o'clock  the  little  fleet  sped  gayly  down  the 
Matanzas. 

"  Matanzas,  Sebastian,  St.  Augustine,"  said  Wal 
ter  ;  "  these  names  are  all  in  character.  It's  an  aw 
ful  misfortune  for  your  husband's  budding  summer 
resort  in  the  North  Carolina  mountains,  Mrs.  Chase, 
that  its  name  happens  to  be  Asheville,  after  that  stu 
pid  custom  of  tacking  the  French  '  ville '  to  some 
man's  name  ;  (for  I  take  it  that  Ashe  is  a  name,  and 
not  cinders).  In  this  case,  the  first  settlers  were  more 
than  usually  asinine  ;  for  they  had  the  beautiful  Ind 
ian  *  Svvannanoa  '  ready  to  their  hands." 

"  Oh,  but  first  settlers  have  no  love  for  Indian 
names,"-  commented  Dolly.  "  How  can  they  have  ? 
The  Indians  and  the  great  forest — these  are  their 
enemies.  To  me  there  is  something  touching  in  our 
Higgsvilles  and  Slatervilles.  I  see  the  first  log  cabins 
in  the  little  clearing ;  then  a  short,  stump-bedecked 
street ;  then  two  or  three  streets  and  a  court  -  house. 
The  Iliggs  or  the  Slater  was  their  best  man,  their 
leader,  the  one  they  looked  up  to.  In  North  Caro 
lina  alone  there  are  one  hundred  and  ten  towns  or 
villages  with  names  ending  in  '  ville.'  " 

"  North  Carolina  ?  Oh  yes,  I  dare  say  !"  remarked 
Etheridge. 

"And  two  hundred  and  forty-one  in  New  York," 
added  Dolly. 


212 


"  Well,  we  make  up  for  it  in  other  ways,"  said  Mrs. 
Franklin.  "  If  the  men  name  the  towns,  the  women 
name  the  children  ;  I  have  known  mothers  to  pro 
duce  simply  from  their  own  imaginations  such  titles 
as  Merilla,  and  Idelusia,  for  their  daughters.  I  once 
knew  a  girl  who  had  even  been  baptized  Damask 
Rose." 

"  What  did  they  call  her  for  short  ?"  inquired 
Walter. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Willouffhby/"  said  Lilian  Kip,  shocked. 

"  Damask's  mother  was  trying  to  solace  herself 
with  names,  I  fancy,"  Mrs.  Franklin  went  on,  "  be 
cause  by  the  terms  of  her  husband's  will  (she  was  a 
widow),  she  forfeited  all  she  had  if  she  married 
again." 

"  How  outrageous  ?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Kip,  bristling 
into  vehemence.  u  If  a  woman  has  been  a  good  wife 
to  one  man,  is  that  any  reason  why  she  should  be  de 
nied  the  privilege  of  being  a  good  wife  to  another?" 

"  Privilege?"  repeated  Dolly. 

"  Surely  there  is  no  greater  one,"  said  Mrs.  Kip, 
with  a  sigh.  "  Love  is  so  beautiful !  And  it  is  such 
a  benefit !  The  more  one  loves,  the  better,.  I  think. 
And  the  more  persons  one  loves,  the  more  sweet  and 
generous  one's  nature  becomes.  If  any  one  has  been 
bereaved,  I  am  always  so  glad  to  hear  that  they  are 
in  love  again.  Even  if  the  love  is  unreturned"  (here 
she  gave  a  little  swallow),  "  I  still  think  it  in  itself 
the  greatest  blessing  we  have  ;  and  the  most  improv 
ing." 


213 


After  a  friendly  race  towards  the  south,  the  fleet 
turned  and  came  back ;  the  company  disembarked  and 
walked  across  the  narrow  breadth  of  Anastasia  Island 
to  the  ocean  beach,  where,  at  the  Spanish  light-house, 
the  collation  was  to  be  served  later  in  the  day.  The 
old  beacon  stood,  at  high  tide,  almost  in  the  water ; 
for,  in  two  hundred  years,  the  ocean  had  encroached 
largely  upon  the  shore.  Its  square  stone  tower,  which 
had  been  topped  in  the  Spanish  days  with  an  iron 
grating  and  a  bonfire,  now  displayed  a  revolving  light, 
which  flashed  and  then  faded,  flashed  and  faded,  sig 
nalling  out  to  sea  the  harbor  of  St.  Augustine.  Under 
the  tower  stood  a  coquina  house  for  the  keeper,  and 
the  whole  was  fortified,  having  a  defensive  wall,  with 
angles  and  loop-holes.  Nothing  could  have  been 
more  beautiful  than  the  soft  sapphire  tint  of  the  ocean, 
whose  long  rollers,  coming  smoothly  in,  broke  with  a 
musical  wash  upon  the  broad  white  beach  which,  firm 
as  a  pavement,  stretched  towards  the  south  in  long 
curves.  Not  a  ship  was  in  sight.  Overhead  sailed 
an  eagle.  "  Oh,  why  did  we  land  st>  soon  ?"  said  Ruth, 
regretfully.  "  We  might  have  stayed  out  two  hours 
longer.  For  we  are  not  to  have  the  supper — or  is  it 
the  dinner  ? — at  any  rate,  it's  chowder — until  sunset." 

"  We  can  go  out  again,  if  you  like,"  said  Walter. 

Here  Etheridge  came  up.  The  implacably  clear 
light  which  comes  from  a  broad  expanse  of  sea  was 
revealing  every  minute  line  in  Mrs.  Franklin's  delicate 
face.  "  How  wrinkled  she  looks !"  was  his  self-con 
gratulatory  thought.  "  Even  fifteen  years  ago  she  was 


214 


finished — done!"  Then  he  added,  aloud:  "I  think 
I'll  accompany  you,  if  you  are  going  out  again.  The 
afternoon  promises  to  be  endlessly  long  here,  with 
nothing  to  do  but  gawp  for  sea-beans,  or  squawk 
poetry  !"  This  strenuous  description  of  some  of  the 
amusements  already  in  progress  on  the  beach  showed 
that,  in  the  commodore's  plans,  something  had  gone 
wrong. 

"  Are  you  really  going,  commodore  ?"  asked  Mrs. 
Franklin.  "  Then  I'll  put  Ruth  in  your  charge." 

"  Pat  me  in  it,  too,"  said  Dolly.  "  I  should  much 
rather  sail  than  sit  here." 

"Oh  no,  Dolly.  You  never  can  take  that  walk  to 
the  landing  a  second  time  so  soon,"  said  the  mother. 

And  so  it  proved.  Dolly  started.  But,  after  a  few 
steps,  she  had  to  give  it  up.  "  I  should  think  you 
would  like  to  go,  His  Grand  ?"  she  suggested. 

"  I  can't.  I  have  promised  to  see  to  the  chowder," 
answered  Mrs.  Franklin.  "Sailing  and  sea -beans 
and  poetry  are  all  very  well.  But  I  have  noticed 
that  every  one  grcrws  gloomy  when  the  chowder  is 
bad !" 

Etheridge,  Ruth,  and  Walter  Willoughby,  therefore, 
recrossed  the  island  and  embarked.  The  commodore 
took  the  helm. 

"  What  boat  is  that  ahead  of  us  ?"  asked  Walter. 
"Some  of  our  people?  Has  any  one  else  deserted 
the  sea-beans  ?" 

"  I  dare  say,"  replied  Etheridge,  carelessly. 

The  commodore  could  manage  a  boat  extremely 


215 


well;  the  Owl  and  the  Pussycat  flew  after  that  sail 
ahead,  in  a  line  as  straight  as  a  plummet. 

"  Why,  it's  Mrs.  Kip,"  said  Ruth,  as  they  drew  near 
er.  She  had  recognized  the  gypsy  hat  in  the  other  boat. 

"  Yes,  with  Albert  Tiliotson,"  added  Walter. 

"  What,  that  donkey  ?"  inquired  Etheridge,  with 
well-feigned  surprise  (and  an  anger  that  required  no 
feigning).  "He  can  no  more  manage  a  boat  than  I 
can  manage  a  comet !  Poor  Mrs.  Kip  is  in  actual 
danger  of  her  life.  The  idea  of  that  Tom  Noddy  of 
a  Tiliotson  daring  to  take  her  out !  I  must  run  this 
boat  up  alongside,  Mr.  Willoughby,  and  get  on  board 
immediately.  Common  humanity  requires  it." 

"  The  commodore's  common  humanity  is  uncom 
monly  like  jealousy,"  said  Walter  to  Ruth  when  the 
Owl  had  dropped  behind  again  after  this  manoeuvre 
had  been  successfully  executed.  "  He  is  a  clever  old 
fellow  !  Of  course  he  knew  she  was  out,  and  he  came 
with  us  on  purpose.  We'll  keep  near  them,  Mrs. 
Chase,  and  watch  their  faces ;  it  will  be  as  good  as  a 
play." 

To  his  surprise,  Ruth,  who  was  generally  so  ready 
to  laugh,  did  not  pay  heed  to  this.  "  I  am  glad  he 
has  gone,"  she  said ;  "  for  now  we  need  not  talk~- 
just  sail  and  sail !  Let  us  go  over  so  far — rstraight 
down  towards  the  south."  Her  eyes  had  a  dreamy 
expression  which  was  new  to  him. 

"  What  next !"  thought  her  companion.  He  glanced 
furtively  at  his  watch.  <'  I  can  keep  on  for  half  an 
hour  more,  I  suppose." 


216 


But  when,  at  the  end  of  that  time,  he  put  about, 
Ruth,  who  had  scarcely  spoken,  straightened  herself 
(she  had  been  lying  back  indolently,  with  one  hand 
behind  her  head),  and  watched  the  turning  prow  with 
regret.  "  Must  we  go  back  so  soon  ?  Why  ?" 

"  To  look  for  sea-beans,"  answered  Walter.  "  Are 
you  aware,  Mrs.  Chase,  of  the  awful  significance  of 
that  New  England  phrase  of  condemnation,  'You  don't 
know  beans '  ?  It  will  be  said  that  /  don't  know  if 
I  take  you  any  farther.  For  the  tide  will  soon  turn, 
and  the  wind  is  already  against  us." 

But  his  tasks  were  not  yet  at  an  end  ;  another  idea 
soon  took  possession  of  his  companion's  imagination. 

"  How  wild  Anastasia  looks  from  here  !  I  have 
never  landed  at  this  point.  Can't  we  land  now,  just 
for  a  few  moments  ?  It  would  be  such  fun." 

"  Won't  it  be  more  than  fun,  Mrs.  Horace  ?  A  wild- 
goose —  ?  Forgive  the  pun." 

On  Anastasia  there  are  ancient  trails  running  north 
and  south.  Ruth,  discovering  one  of  these  paths,  fol 
lowed  it  inland.  "  I  wish  we  could  meet  something, 
I  wish  we  could  have  an  adventure  !"  she  said.  "  There 
are  bears  over  here  ;  and  there  are  alligators  too  at 
the  pools.  Perhaps  this  trail  leads  to  a  pool  ?"  The 
surmise  was  correct ;  the  path  soon  brought  them 
within  sight  of  a  dark -looking  pond,  partly  covered 
with  lily  leaves.  Ruth,  who  was  first  (for  the  old  Ind 
ian  trail  was  so  narrow  that  they  could  not  walk  side 
by  side),  turned  back  suddenly.  "  There  really  is  an 
alligator,"  she  whispered.  "  He  is  half  in  and  half 


217 


out  of  the  water.  I  am  going  to  run  round  through 
the  thicket,  so  as  to  have  a  nearer  view  of  him."  And 
hurrying  with  noiseless  steps  along  the  trail,  she 
turned  into  the  forest. 

He  followed.  "  Don't  be  foolhardy,"  he  urged. 
For  she  seemed  to  him  so  fearless  that  there  was  no 
telling  what  she  might  do. 

But  when  they  reached  the  opposite  side  of  the  pool 
no  alligator  was  visible,  and  Ruth,  seating  herself  in 
the  loop  of  a  vine,  which  formed  a  natural  swing, 
laughed  her  merriest. 

"  You  are  an  excellent  actress,"  he  said.  "  I  really 
believed  that  you  had  seen  the  creature." 

"  And  if  I  had?  They  don't  attack  people  ;  they 
are  great  cowards." 

"  I  have  an  admirable  air  of  being  more  timid  than 
she  is  !"  he  thought,  annoyed. 

They  returned  towards  the  shore  along  a  low  ridge. 
On  their  way  he  saw  something  cross  this  ridge  about 
thirty  feet  ahead  of  them — a  slender  dark  line.  He 
ran  forward  and  looked  down  (for  the  ridge  was  four 
feet  high). 

"  Come  quickly  !"  he  called  back  to  Ruth.  "  Your 
alligator  was  a  base  invention.  But  here  is  something 
real.  He  is  hardly  more  than  an  infant,"  he  continued, 
his  eyes  still  fixed  on  the  lower  slope.  "  But  he  is  of 
the  blood  royal,  I  can  tell  by  the  shape  of  his  neck. 
I'll  get  a  long  branch,  Mrs.  Chase,  and  then,  as  you 
like  adventures,  you  can  see  him  strike."  Where 
they  stood,  they  were  safe,  for  the  snake  (it  was  a 


218 


young  rattlesnake)  would  not  come  up  the  ascent; 
when  he  moved,  he  would  glide  the  other  way  into 
the  thicket.  Hastily  cutting  a  long  wand  from  a 
bush,  he  gave  it  to  her.  "  Touch  him,"  he  directed  ; 
"  on  the  body,  not  on  the  head.  Then  you  will  see 
him  coil  !"  He  himself  kept  his  eyes  meanwhile  on 
the  snake  ;  he  did  not  look  at  her.  But  the  wand 
did  not  descend.  "  Make  haste,"  he  urged,  "  or  he 
will  be  oft !" 

The  wand  came  down  slowly,  paused,  and  then 
touched  the  reptile,  who  instantly  coiled  himself, 
reared  his  flat  head,  and  struck  at  it  with  his  fangs 
exposed.  Walter,  excited  and  interested,  waited  to 
see  him  strike  again.  But  there  was  no  opportu 
nity,  for  the  wand  itself  was  dropping.  He  turned. 
Ruth,  her  face  covered  with  her  hands,  was  shudder 
ing  convulsively. 

"  The  snake  has  gone,"  he  said,  reassuringly  ;  "he 
went  off  like  a  shot  into  the  thicket,  he  is  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  away  by  this  time."  For  he  was  alarmed 
by  the  violence  of  the  tremor  that  had  taken  pos 
session  of  her. 

In  spite  of  her  tremor,  she  began  to  run ;  she  hur 
ried  like  a  wild  creature  along  the  ridge  until  she 
came  to  a  broad  open  space  of  white  sand,  over 
which  no  dark  object  could  approach  unseen ;  here 
she  sank  down,  sobbing  aloud. 

He  was  at  his  wits'  end.  Why  should  a  girl,  who 
apparently  had  no  fear  of  bears  or  alligators,  be 
frightened  out  of  her  senses  by  one  small  snake  ? 


219 


"  Supposing  she  should  faint — that  Dolly  is  always 
fainting  !  What  on  earth  could  I  do  2"  he  thought. 

Ruth,  however,  did  not  faint.  But  she  sobbed 
and  sobbed  as  if  she  could  not  stop. 

"  It's  just  like  her  laughing,"  thought  Walter,  in 
despair.  "  Dear  Mrs.  Chase,"  he  said  aloud,  "  I  am 
distracted  to  see  how  I  have  made  you  suffer.  These 
Florida  snakes  do  very  little  harm,  unless  one  hap 
pens  to  step  on  them  unawares.  I  did  not  imagine, 
I  did  not  dream,  that  the  mere  sight —  But  that 
makes  no  difference  ;  I  shall  never  forgive  myself  ; 
never !" 

Ruth  looked  up,  catching  her  breath.  "  It  was  so 
dreadful !"  she  murmured,  brokenly.  "  Did  you  see 
its — its  mouth  ?"  She  was  so  white  that  even  her  lips 
were  colorless ;  her  blue  eyes  were  dilated  strangely. 

He  grew  more  and  more  alarmed.  Apparently 
she  saw  it,  for  she  tried  to  control  herself ;  and,  after 
two  or  three  minutes,  she  succeeded.  "  You  must 
not  mind  if  I  happen  to  look  rather  pale,"  she  said, 
timidly.  "  I  am  sometimes  very  pale  for  a  moment 
or  two.  And  then  I  get  dreadfully  red  in  the  same 
way.  Doily  often  speaks  of  it.  But  it  doesn't  mean 
anything.  I  can  go  now,"  she  added,  still  timidly. 

"  She  thinks  I  am  vexed,"  he  said  to  himself,  sur 
prised.  He  was  not  vexed  ;  on  the  contrary,  in  her 
pallor  and  this  new  shyness  she  was  more  interest 
ing  to  him  than  she  had  ever  been  before.  As  he 
knew  that  they  ought  to  be  on  their  way  back,  he 
accepted  her  offer  to  start,  in  spite  of  her  white 


220 


cheeks.  But  her  steps  were  so  weak,  and  she  still 
trembled  so  convulsively,  that  he  drew  her  hand 
through  his  arm  and  held  it.  Giving  her  in  this  way 
all  the  help  he  could,  he  took  her  towards  the  shore, 
choosing  a  route  through  open  spaces,  so  that  there 
should  be  no  vision  of  any  gliding  thing  in  the 
underbrush  near  by.  When  they  were  off  again, 
crossing  the  Matanzas  on  a  long  tack,  she  was  still 
very  pallid.  "  I  haven't  been  clever,"  he  thought. 
"  At  present  she  is  unnerved  by  fright.  But  by  to 
morrow  it  will  be  anger,  and  she  will  say  that  it  was 
my  fault."  While  thinking  of  this,  he  talked  on  va 
rious  subjects.  Bat  it  was  a  monologue  ;  for  a  long 
time  Ruth  made  no  answer.  Then  suddenly  the  color 
came  rushing  back  to  her  cheeks.  "  Please  don't  tell 
— don't  tell  any  one  how  dreadfully  frightened  I 
was,"  she  pleaded. 

"I  never  tell  anything ;  I  have  no  talent  for  narra 
tive,"  he  answered,  much  relieved  to  see  the  return 
ing  red.  "  But  I  am  dreadfully  cut  up  and  wretched 
about  that  fright  I  was  stupid  enough  to  give  you. 
1  wish  I  could  make  you  forget  it,  Mrs.  Chase  ;  for 
get  it  forever." 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  am  afraid  I  shall  remember  it 
forever,"  Ruth  answered.  Then  she  added,  still  timidly, 
"  But  you  were  so  kind —  It  won't  be  all  unpleasant." 

"  What  a  school-girl  it  is !"  thought  Walter.  "  And 
above  all  things,  what  a  creature  of  extremes  !  She 
must  lead  Horace  Chase  a  life  !  However,  she  is 
certainly  seductively  lovely." 


CHAPTER    XI 

AT  the  end  of  this  week  Horace  Chase  returned. 
And  the  next  morning  he  paid  a  visit  to  his  mother- 
in-law.  He  still  used  his  "  ma'am  "  when  talking  to 
her ;  she  still  called  him  "  Mr.  Chase."  In  mention 
ing  him  to  others,  she  sometimes  succeeded  in  bring 
ing  out  a  "  Horace."  But  when  the  tall,  grave-looking 
business  man  was  before  her  in  person,  she  never  got 
beyond  the  more  formal  title. 

"  My  trip  to  Savannah,  ma'am,  was  connected  with 
business,"  Chase  began,  after  he  had  gone  through 
his  usual  elaborate  inquiries  about  her  health  and 
"  the  health  of  Miss  Dolly."  "  One  of  my  friends, 
David  Patterson  by  name,  and  myself,  have  been  en 
gaged  for  some  time  in  arranging  a  new  enterprise 
in  which  we  are  about  to  embark  in  California. 
Matters  are  now  sufficiently  advanced  for  me  to  men 
tion  that  about  May  next  we  shall  need  a  confiden 
tial  man  in  New  York  to  attend  to  the  Eastern  part 
of  it.  It  is  highly  important  to  me,  ma'am,  to  have 
for  that  position  some  one  I  know,  some  one  I  can 
trust.  Mr.  Patterson  will  go  himself  to  California, 
and  remain  there,  probably,  a  year  or  more.  Mean 
while  I,  at  the  East,  shall  need  just  the  right  man 
under  me  ;  for  /  have  other  things  to  see  to ;  I  can- 


222 


not  give  all  my  time  to  this  new  concern.  Do  you 
think,  ma'am,  that  Mr.  Franklin  could  be  induced  to 
take  this  place  ?  Under  the  circumstances,  I  should 
esteem  it  a  favor."  And  here  he  made  Jared's 
mother  a  little  bow. 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  answered  Mrs.  Franklin. 
Having  refused  to  know  anything  of  the  corre 
spondence  between  Ruth  and  G-enevieve,  she  had  had 
until  now  no  knowledge  of  the  proposed  New  York 
place.  "  Jared's  present  position  is  certainly  most 
wretched  drudgery,"  she  went  on;  "far  beneath  his 
abilities — which  are  really  great." 

"Just  so.  And  what  should  you  recommend, 
ma'am,  as  the  best  way  to  open  the  subject?  Shall 
I  take  a  run  up  to  Raleigh  ?  Or  shall  I  drop  him  a 
line  ?  Perhaps  you  yourself  would  like  to  write  2" 

The  mother  reflected.  "  If  I  do,"  she  thought, 
"Jared  will  fancy  that  I  have  begged  the  place  for 
him.  If  Ruth  writes,  he  will  be  sure  of  it.  If  Mr. 
Chase  writes,  Jared  will  answer  within  the  hour — a 
letter  full  of  jokes  and  friendliness,  but — declining. 
If  Chase  goes  to  Raleigh  in  person,  Jared  will  de 
cline  verbally,  and  with  even  more  unassailable  good- 
humor.  No,  there  is  only  one  person  in  the  world 
who  could  perhaps  make  him  yield,  and  that  person 
is  Genevieve !"  At  this  thought,  her  face,  which 
always  showed  like  a  barometer  her  inward  feelings, 
changed  so  markedly  that  her  son-in-law  hastened 
to  interpose.  "  Don't  bother  about  the  ways  and 
means,  ma'am ;  I  guess  I  can  fix  it  all  right."  lie 


223 


spoke  in  a  confident  tone,  in  order  to  reassure  her; 
for  he  had  a  liking  for  the  "  limber  old  lady,"  as  he 
mentally  called  her.  His  confidence,  however,  was 
in  a  large  measure  assumed ;  where  business  matters 
were  in  question,  the  "  offishness,"  as  he  termed  it, 
of  this  ex-naval  officer  had  seemed  to  him  such  a 
queer  trait  that  he  hardly  knew  how  to  grapple  with 
it. 

"  I  was  only  thinking  that  my  daughter-in-law 
would  perhaps  be  the  best  person  to  speak  to  Jared," 
replied  Mrs.  Franklin  at  last.  (The  words  came  out 
with  an  effort.) 

"  Gen  ?  So  she  would  ;  she  is  very  clear-headed. 
But  if  she  is  to  be  the  one,  I  must  first  let  her  know 
just  what  the  place  is,  and  all  about  it,  and  how  can 
that  be  done,  ma'am  ?  Wouldn't  Mr.  Franklin  see 
my  letter  ?" 

"  No.  For  she  isn't  in  Raleigh  with  her  husband  ; 
she  is  at  Asheville." 

"Why,  how's  that?"  inquired  Chase,  who  had 
seen,  from  the  first,  Jared's  deep  attachment  to  his 
wife. 

"  How  indeed !"  thought  the  mother.  Her  lips 
quivered.  She  compressed  them  in  order  to  conceal 
it.  The  satisfaction  which  she  had,  for  a  time,  felt 
in  the  idea  that  Genevieve  was  learning,  at  last,  that 
she  could  not  always  control  her  husband — this  had 
now  vanished  in  the  sense  of  her  son's  long  and 
dreary  solitude.  For  the  wife  had  not  been  in  Ra 
leigh  during  the  entire  winter ;  Jared  had  been  left 


224 


to  endure  existence  as  best  he  could  in  his  comfort 
less  boarding-house.  "  My  daughter-in-law  has  been 
very  closely  occupied  at  Asheville,"  she  explained, 
after  a  moment.  "  They  are  improving  their  house 
there,  you  know,  and  she  can  superintend  work  of 
that  sort  remarkably  well." 

"  That's  so,"  said  Chase,  agreeingly. 

"  She  is  also  much  interested  in  a  new  wing  for 
the  Colored  Home,"  pursued  Mrs.  Franklin  ;  and  this 
time  a  little  of  her  deep  inward  bitterness  showed 
itself  in  her  tone. 

"  Gen's  pretty  cute  !"  thought  Chase.  "  She's  not 
only  feathering  her  own  nest  up  there  in  Asheville, 
but  at  the  same  time  she  is  starving  out  that  wrong- 
headed  husband  of  hers."  Then  he  went  on  aloud : 
"  Well,  ma'am,  if  it's  to  be  Mrs.  Jared  who  is  to  at 
tend  to  the  matter  for  me,  I  guess  I'll  wait  until  I 
can  put  the  whole  thing  before  her  in  a  nutshell, 
with  the  details  arranged.  That  will  be  pretty  soon 
now — as  soon  as  I  come  back  from  California.  For 
I  must  go  to  California  myself  before  long." 

"  Are  you  going  to  take  Ruth  ?  How  I  shall  miss 
her !"  said  the  mother,  dispiritedly. 

"  We  shall  not  be  gone  a  great  while — only  five  or 
six  weeks.  On  second  thoughts,  why  shouldn't  you 
come  along,  ma'am  ? — come  along  with  us  ?  I  guess 
I  could  fix  it  so  as  you'd  be  pretty  comfortable." 

"•  You  are  very  kind.    But  I  could  not  leave  Dolly." 

"  Of  course  not.  I  didn't  mean  that,  ma'am ;  I 
meant  that  Miss  Dolly  should  come  along  too.  That 


225 


French  woman  of  Ruth's  —  Felicity  —  she's  capital 
when  travelling.  Or  we  could  have  a  trained  nurse  ? 
They  have  very  attractive  nurses  now,  ma'am ;  real 
ladies  ;  and  good-looking  too,  and  sprightly." 

"  You  are  always  thoughtful,"  answered  Mrs.  Frank 
lin,  amused  by  this  description.  "  But  it  is  impossi 
ble.  Dolly  can  travel  for  two  or  three  days,  if  we 
take  great  precautions ;  'but  a  longer  time  makes  her 
ill.  Ruth  is  coming  to  lunch,  isn't  she  ?  With  Mal- 
achi  ?  I  am  so  glad  you  brought  him  ;  he  doesn't 
have  many  holidays." 

"  Well,  ma'am,  he  was  there  in  Savannah,  buying 
a  bell,  or,  rather,  getting  prices.  A  church  bell,  as  I 
understood.  He'd  about  got  through,  and  was  going 
back  to  Asheville,  when  I  suggested  to  him  to  come 
along  down  to  St.  Augustine  for  three  or  four  days. 
'Come  and  look  up  your  wandering  flock' — that  is 
what  I  remarked  to  him.  For  you  know,  ma'am, 
that  with  yourself  and  Miss  Dolly,  the  commodore 
and  Mrs.  Kip,  you  make  four — four  of  his  sheep  in 
Florida;  including  Miss  Evangeline  Taylor,  four  sheep 
and  a  first-prize  lamb." 

Mrs.  Franklin  smiled.  But  she  felt  herself  called 
upon  to  explain  a  little.  "  We  are  not  of  his  flock, 
exactly ;  Mr.  Hill  has  a  mission  charge.  But  though 
he  is  not  our  rector,  we  are  all  much  attached  to  him." 

"  He's  a  capital  little  fellow,  and  works  hard  ;  I've 
great  respect  for  him.  But  somehow,  ma'am,  he's 
taken  a  queer  way  lately  of  stopping  short  when  he 
is  talking.  Almost  as  though  he  had  choked  !" 

15 


226 


"  So  he  has — choked  himself  off,"  answered  Mrs. 
Franklin,  breaking  into  a  laugh.  "  When  with  you, 
he  is  constantly  tempted  to  ask  for  money  for  the 
Mission,  he  says.  He  knows,  however,  that  the  clergy 
are  always  accused  of  paying  court  to  rich  men  for 
begging  purposes,  and  he  is  determined  to  be  an  ex 
ception.  But  he  finds  it  uncommonly  difficult." 

"  How  much  does  he  want  ?"  inquired  Chase. 
Then  he  paused.  "  Perhaps  his  notions  take  the 
form  of  a  church  ?"  he  went  on.  "  I've  been  think 
ing  a  little  of  building  a  church,  ma'am.  You  see, 
my  mother  was  a  great  church-goer ;  she  found  her 
principal  comfort  in  it.  I've  been  very  far  from 
steady  myself,  I'm  sorry  to  say ;  I  haven't  done 
much  credit  to  her  bringing-up.  And  so  I've  thought 
that  I'd  put  up  a  church  some  day,  as  a  sort  of  mem 
ory  of  her.  Because,  if  she'd  lived,  she  would  have 
liked  that  better  than  anything  else." 

"  Do  you  mean  an  Episcopal  church  ?"  inquired 
Mrs.  Franklin,  touched  by  these  words. 

"  Well,  she  was  a  Baptist  herself,"  Chase  replied. 
"  So  perhaps  I  have  rather  a  prejudice  in  favor  of 
that  denomination.  But  I'm  not  set  upon  it;  I 
should  think  it  might  be  built  so  as  to  be  suitable 
for  all  persuasions.  At  any  rate,  I  guess  Hill  and  I 
could  hit  it  off  together  somehow." 

Here  Dolly  came  in,  and  a  moment  afterwards 
Ruth  appeared  with  the  Rev.  Malachi  Hill.  Dolly 
greeted  the  young  missionary  with  cordiality.  "  How 
is  Asheville?"  she  inquired.  "  How  is  Maud  Muriel?" 


227 


Malachi's  radiant  face  changed.  "  She  is  the  same. 
When  I  see  her  coming,  I  do  everything  I  can  to  keep 
out  of  the  way.  But  sometimes  there  is  no  corner  to 
turn,  or  no  house  to  go  into,  and  I  have  to  pass  her. 
And  then  I  know  just  how  she  will  say  it !"  And, 
tightening  his  lips,  he  brought  out  a  low  "  Manikin !" 

"  Brace  up,"  said  Dolly.  "  You  must  look  back 
at  her  and  look  her  down ;  make  her  falter." 

"  Oh,  falter  !"  repeated  poor  Malachi,  hopelessly. 

Another  guest  now  appeared — Mrs.  Kip.  For  Mrs. 
Franklin  had  invited  them  all  to  lunch  before  the 
jessamine  hunt,  which  had  been  appointed  for  that 
afternoon.  As  it  happened,  Mrs.  Kip's  first  question 
also  was,  "  How  is  Miss  Mackintosh  ?" 

"Unchanged.  At  least,  she  treats  me  with  the 
same  contumely,"  answered  the  clergyman. 

"  If  you  indulge  yourself  with  such  words  as  '  con 
tumely,'  Mr.  Hill,  people  will  call  you  affected,"  said 
Dolly,  in  humorous  warning. 

"  Now,  Dolly,  don't  say  that,"  interposed  Mrs.  Kip. 
"  For  unusual  words  are  full  of  dignity.  I  don't 
know  what  I  wouldn't  give  if  /  could  bring  in,  just 
naturally  and  easily,  when  I  am  talking,  such  a  word, 
for  instance,  as  jejune !  And  for  clergymen  it  is 
especially  distinguished.  Though  there  is  one  cler 
ical  word,  Mr.  Hill,  that  I  do  think  might  be  altered, 
and  that  is  closet.  Why  should  we  always  be  told 
to  meditate  in  our  closets  ?  Generally  there  is  no 
room  for  a  chair ;  so  all  one  can  think  of  is  people 
sitting  on  the  floor  among  the  shoes." 


228 


Every  one  laughed.  Mrs.  Kip,  however,  had  made 
her  remark  in  perfect  good  faith. 

The  entrance  of  Walter  Willoughby  completed  the 
party,  and  lunch  was  announced.  When  the  meal 
was  over,  and  they  came  back  to  the  parlor,  they 
found  Felicite  in  waiting  with  Petie  Trone,  Esq. 
Felicite,  a  French  woman  with  a  trim  waist  and 
large  eyes,  always  looked  as  though  she  would  like 
to  be  wicked.  In  reality,  however,  she  was  harm 
less,  for  one  insatiable  ambition  within  her  swallowed 
up  all  else,  namely,  the  ambition  not  to  be  middle- 
aged.  As  she  was  forty-eight,  the  struggle  took  all 
her  time.  "  I  bring  to  madame  le  petit  trone  for  his 
promenade,"  she  said,  as,  after  a  respectful  salutation 
to  the  company,  she  detached  the  leader  from  the 
dog's  collar. 

"Must  that  fat  little  wretch  go  with  us?"  Chase 
inquired,  after  the  maid  had  departed. 

For  answer,  Ruth  took  up  Mr.  Trone  and  deposited 
him  on  her  husband's  knee.  "  Yes ;  and  you  are  to 
see  to  him." 

"  Is  the  squirrel  down  here  too  ?"  inquired  Walter. 
"  I  haven't  seen  him." 

"  Robert  the  Squirrel — "  began  Chase,  with  his 
hands  in  his  trousers  pockets ;  then  he  paused. 
"  That's  just  like  Robert  the  Devil,  isn't  it  ?  I  mean 
an  opera,  ma'am,  of  that  name  that  they  were  giving 
in  New  York  last  winter,"  he  explained  to  Mrs.  Frank 
lin,  so  that  she  should  not  think  he  was  swearing. 

"  Robert  the   Devil  will  do  excellently  well  as  a 


229 


nickname  for  Bob,"  said  Dolly.  "  It's  the  best  he 
has  had." 

"  Well,  at  any  rate,  Robert  the  Squirrel  isn't  here," 
Chase  went  on.  "  He  boards  with  Mr.  Hill  for  the 
winter,  Walter ;  special  terms  made  for  nuts.  And, 
by-the-way,  Hill,  you  haven't  mentioned  Larue  ;  how 
is  the  senator?  I'm  keeping  my  eye  on  him  for 
future  use  in  booming  our  resort,  you  know.  The 
Governor  of  North  Carolina  remarking  to  the  Gov 
ernor  of  South  Carolina — you've  heard  that  story? 
Well,  sir,  what  we  propose  now  is  to  have  the  senator 
from  North  Carolina  remark  to  the  senator  from 
South  Carolina  (and  to  all  the  other  senators  thrown 
in)  that  Asheville  is  bound  to  be  the  Lone  Star  of 
mountain  resorts  south  of  the  Catskills." 

Lilian  Kip's  heart  had  given  a  jump  at  Larue's 
name ;  to  carry  it  off,  she  took  up  a  new  novel  which 
was  lying  on  the  table.  (For  Chase's  order  had  been 
a  perennial  one :  "  all  the  latest  articles  in  fiction," 
pursued  Mrs.  Franklin  hotly,  month  after  month.) 
"Oh,  I  am  sure  you  don't  like  this,"  said  Lilian, 
when  she  had  read  the  title. 

"  I  have  only  just  begun  it,"  answered  Mrs,  Frank 
lin.  "  But  why  shouldn't  I  like  it  ?  It  is  said  to  be 
original  and  amusing." 

"  It  is  not  at  all  the  book  I  should  wish  to  put  into 
the  hands  of  Evangeline  Taylor,"  replied  Mrs.  Kip, 
with  decision. 

"The  one  unfailing  test  pf  the  American  mother  for 
the  entire  literature  of  the  world!"  commented  Dolly. 


230 


The  search  for  the  first  jessamine  was  in  those 
days  one  of  the  regular  amusements  of  a  St.  Augus 
tine  winter.  Where  St.  George  Street  ends,  beyond 
the  two  pomegranate-topped  pillars  of  the  old  city 
gate,  Mrs.  Franklin's  party  came  upon  the  other 
members  of  the  searching  expedition,  and  they  all 
walked  on  together  along  the  shell  road.  On  the 
right,  Fort  Sari  Marco  loomed  up,  with  the  figures 
of  several  Indians  on  its  top  outlined  against  the 
sky.  Beyond  shone  the  white  sand-hills  of  the 
North  Beach.  At  the  end  of  the  road  the  search 
ers  entered  a  long  range  of  park-like  glades ;  here 
the  yellow  jessamine,  the  loveliest  wild  flower  of  the 
Florida  spring,  unfolds  its  tendrils  as  it  clambers 
over  the  trees  and  thickets,  lighting  up  their  ever 
green  foliage  with  its  bell -shaped  flowers.  Dolly 
and  Mrs.  Frankl'n  had  accompanied  the  party  in  a 
phaeton.  "  I  think  I  can  drive  everywhere,  even 
without  a  road,  as  the  ground  is  so  level  and  open," 
Dolly  suggested.  "  But  you  must  serve  as  guide, 
Ruth.  Please  keep  us  in  sight." 

But  after  a  while  Ruth  forgot  this  injunction.  Mrs. 
Franklin,  always  interested  in  whatever  was  going  on, 
had  already  disappeared,  searching  for  the  jessamine 
with  the  eagerness  of  a  girl.  Dolly,  finding  herself 
thus  deserted,  stopped.  But  her  brother-in-law,  who 
had  had  his  eye  on  her  pony  from  the  beginning, 
soon  appeared.  "What,  alone?"  he  said,  coming  up. 

Upon  seeing  him,  Dolly  cleared  her  brow.  "  I 
don't  mind  it ;  the  glades  are  so  pretty." 


231 


Chase  examined  the  glades  ;  but  without  any 
marked  admiration  in  his  glance. 

"  Where  is  Ruth  3"  Dolly  went  on. 

"Just  round  the  corner — I  mean  on  the  other  side 
of  that  thicket.  Walter  has  found  some  of  the  vine 
they  are  all  hunting  for,  and  she's  in  a  great  jubila 
tion  over  it ;  she  wanted  to  find  it  ahead  of  that  Mr. 
Kean,  who  always  gets  it  first." 

"  Please  tell  her  to  bring  me  a  spray  of  it.  As 
soon  as  she  can." 

Assuring  himself  that  the  pony  felt  no  curiosity 
about  the  absence  of  a  road  under  his  feet,  Chase, 
with  his  leisurely  step,  went  in  search  of  his  wife. 
He  found  her  catching  jessamine,  which  Walter,  who 
had  climbed  into  a  wild -plum  tree,  was  throwing 
down.  She  had  already  adorned  herself  with  the 
blossoms,  and  when  she  saw  her  husband  approach 
ing  she  went  to  meet  him,  and  wound  a  spray  round 
his  hat. 

"  Your  sister  wants  some  ;  she  told  me  to  tell 
you.  She's  back  there  a  little  way — on  the  left," 
said  Chase.  "  Hullo  !  here  comes  a  wounded  hero  ;" 
for  Petie  Trone,  Esq.,  had  appeared,  limping  dole 
fully.  "  Never  mind ;  I'll  see  to  the  little  porpoise 
if  you  want  to  go  to  Dolly."  He  stooped  and  took 
up  the  dog  with  gentle  touch.  "  He  has  probably 
been  interviewing  some  prickly-pears." 

When  Ruth  had  gone,  Walter's  interest  in  the  jes 
samine  vanished.  He  swung  himself  down  to  the 
ground.  "  Mrs.  Chase  has  been  telling  me  that  you 


232 


are  thinking  of  going  to  California  very  soon  ?"  he 
said,  inquiringly. 

"  Yes ;  I  guess  we  shall  get  off  next  week,"  Chase 
answered,  examining  Trone's  little  paws. 

"  I  am  going  to  be  very  bold,"  Walter  went  on. 
"  I  am  going  to  ask  you  to  take  me  with  you." 

Chase's  features  did  not  move,  but  his  whole  ex 
pression  altered ;  the  half-humorous  look  which  his 
face  always  wore  when,  in  the  company  of  his  young 
wife,  he  was  "  taking  things  easy,"  as  he  called  it, 
gave  place  in  a  flash  to  the  cool  reticence  of  the 
man  of  business.  "  Take  you  ?"  he  inquired,  briefly. 
"  Why  ?" 

And  then  Willoughby,  in  the  plainest  and  most 
direct  words  (a  directness  which  was  not,  however, 
without  the  eloquence  that  comes  from  an  intense 
desire),  explained  his  wish  to  be  admitted  to  a  part, 
however  small,  in  the  California  scheme.  He  allowed 
himself  no  reserves  ;  he  told  the  whole  story  of  his 
father's  spendthrift  propensities,  and  his  own  small 
means  in  consequence.  "  I  have  a  fixed  determina 
tion  to  make  money,  Mr.  Chase.  I  dare  say  you 
have  thought  me  idle  ;  but  I  should  not  have  idled 
if  I  had  had  at  any  time  the  right  thing  to  go  into. 
Work  ?  There  is  literally  no  amount  of  work  that  I 
should  shrink  from,  if  it  led  towards  the  fortune 
upon  which  I  am  bent.  I  can,  and  I  will,  work  as 
hard  as  ever  you  yourself  have  worked." 

"  I'm  afraid  you're  looking  for  a  soft  snap,"  said 
Chase,  shifting  Mr.  Trone  to  his  left  arm,  and  put- 


233 


ting-  his  right  hand  into  his  trousers  pocket,  where 
he  jingled  a  bunch  of  keys  vaguely. 

"  If  you  will  let  me  come  in,  even  by  a  little  edge 
only,  I  am  sure  you  won't  regret  it,"  Walter  went  on. 
"  Can't  you  recall,  by  looking  back,  your  own  deter 
mination  to  succeed,  and  how  far  it  carried  you,  how 
strong  it  made  you  1  Well,  that  is  the  way  I  feel 
to-day  I  You  ought  to  be  able  to  comprehend  me. 
You've  been  over  the  same  road." 

"  The  same  road !"  repeated  Chase,  ironically. 
"  Let's  size  it  up  a  little.  I  was  taken  out  of  school 
before  I  was  fourteen — when  my  father  died.  From 
that  day  I  had  not  only  to  earn  every  crumb  of 
bread  I  ate,  but  help  to  earn  the  bread  of  my  sisters 
too.  Before  I  was  eighteen  I  had  worked  at  half  a 
dozen  different  things,  and  always  at  the  rate  of 
thirteen  or  fourteen  hours  a  day.  By  the  time  I  was 
twenty  I  was  old ;  I  had  already  lived  a  long  and 
hard  life.  Now  your  side :  A  good  home  ;  every  lux 
ury  ;  school ;  college  ;  Europe  !" 

"  You  think  that  because  I  have  been  through  Co 
lumbia,  and  because  I  once  had  a  yacht  (the  yacht 
was  in  reality  my  uncle's),  I  shall  never  make  a  good 
business  man,"  replied  Walter.  "  Unfortunately,  I 
have  no  means  of  proving  to  you  the  contrary,  un 
less  you  will  give  me  the  chance  I  ask  for.  I  don't 
pretend,  of  course,  to  have  anything  like  your  tal 
ents  ;  they  are  your  own,  and  unapproached.  But  I 
do  say  that  I  have  ability  ;  I  feel  that  I  have." 

"It's  sizzling,  is  it?"  commented  Chase.     "Why 


234 


don't  you  put  it  into  the  business  you're  in  already, 
then ;  the  steamship  firm  of  Willoughby,  Chase,  <fe 
Co.  ?  Boom  that ;  put  on  steam,  and  boom  it  for 
all  you're  worth  ;  your  uncles  and  I  will  see  you 
through.  You  say  you  only  want  a  chance  ;  why  on 
earth  don't  you  take  the  one  that  lies  before  you  ? 
If  you  wish  to  convince  me  you  know  something, 
that's  the  way." 

"  The  steamship  concern  is  too  slow  for  me  ;  I 
have  looked  into  it,  and  I  know.  I  might  work  at 
it  for  ten  years,  and  with  the  small  share  I  have  in 
it  I  should  not  be  very  rich,"  Walter  answered. 
"  I'm  in  a  hurry !  I  am  willing  to  give  everything 
on  my  side — all  my  time  and  my  strength  and  my 
brains  ;  but  I  want  something  good  on  the  other." 

"  Now  you're  shouting  !" 

"  The  steamship  firm  is  routine  —  regular  ;  that 
isn't  the  way  you  made  your  money,"  Walter  went 
on. 

"  My  way  is  open  to  everybody.  It  isn't  covered 
by  any  patent  that  I  know  of,"  remarked  Chase,  in 
his  dry  tones. 

"  Yes,  it  is,"  answered  Walter,  immediately  taking 
him  up.  "  Or  rather  it  was  ;  the  Bubble  Baking- 
Powder  was  very  tightly  patented." 

Chase  grinned  a  little  over  this  sally.  But  he  was 
not  moved  towards  the  least  concession,  and  Walter 
saw  that  he  was  not ;  he  therefore  played  his  last 
card.  "  I  have  a  great  deal  of  influence  with  my 
uncles,  I  think  ;  especially  with  my  uncle  Nicholas." 


235 


"  Put  your  money  on  Nicholas  Willoughby,  and 
you're  safe,  every  time,"  remarked  Chase,  in  a  gen 
eral  way. 

"I  don't  know  whether  you  and  Patterson  care  for 
more  capital  in  developing  your  California  scheme  ?" 
AValter  went  on.  "  But  if  you  do,  I  could  probably 
help  you  to  some." 

Chase  looked  at  him.  The  younger  man's  eyes 
met  his,  bright  as  steel. 

The  millionaire  walked  over  to  a  block  of  coquina, 
which  had  once  formed  part  of  a  Spanish  house ; 
here  he  seated  himself,  established  Petie  Trone  com 
fortably  on  his  knee,  and  lifting  his  hand,  tilted  back 
still  farther  on  his  head  his  jessamine-decked  hat. 
"  You've  been  blowing  about  being  able  to  work, 
Walter.  But  we  can  get  plenty  of  hard  workers 
without  letting  'em  into  the  ring.  And  you've  been 
talking  about  being  sharp.  Sharp  you  may  be.  But 
I  rather  guess  that  when  it  comes  to  that,  Dave  Pat 
terson  and  I  don't  need  any  help.  Capital,  however, 
is  another  matter ;  it's  always  another  matter.  By 
enlarging  our  scheme  at  its  present  stage  by  a  third 
(which  we  could  do  easily  if  your  uncle  Nicholas 
came  in),  we  should  make  a  much  bigger  pile." 

There  was  no  second  block  of  coquina  ;  Walter 
remained  standing.  But  his  compact  figure  looked 
sturdy  and  firm  as  he  stood  there  beside  the  other 
man.  "  I  could  not  go  to  my  uncle  without  know 
ing  what  I  am  to  tell  him,"  he  remarked,  after  a  mo 
ment. 


236 


"Certainly  not !"  Chase  answered.  Then,  after  fur 
ther  reflection  (this  time  Walter  did  not  break  the 
silence),  he  said :  "  Well,  see  here ;  I  may  as  well 
state  at  the  outset  that  unless  your  uncle  will  come 
in  to  a  pretty  big  tune,  we  don't  want  him  at  all; 
'twouldn't  pay  us ;  we'd  prefer  to  play  it  alone.  Now 
your  uncles  don't  strike  me  as  men  who  would 
be  willing  to  take  risks.  You  say  you  have  influ 
ence  with  'em,  or  rather  with  Nick.  But  I've  got  no 
proof  of  that.  Of  course  it's  possible ;  Nick  has 
brought  you  up  ;  he's  got  no  son — only  girls ;  per 
haps  he'd  be  willing  to  do  for  you  what  he'd  do  for 
a  son  of  his  own  ;  perhaps  he  really  would  take  a 
risk,  to  give  you  a  first-class  start.  But  I  repeat  that 
I've  no  proof  of  your  having  the  least  influence  with 
him.  What's  more,  I've  a  healthy  amount  of  doubt 
about  it !  Oh,  I  dare  say  you  believe  you've  got  a 
pull ;  you're  straight  as  far  as  that  goes.  My  notion 
is  simply  that  you're  mistaken,  that  you're  barking 
up  the  wrong  tree  ;  Nicholas  ain't  that  sort !  How 
ever,  as  it  happens  to  be  the  moment  when  we  could 
enlarge  (and  double  the  profits),  I'll  give  you  my 
terms.  You  have  convinced  me  at  least  of  one  thing, 
and  that  is  that  you're  very  sharp  set  yourself  as  to 
money-making ;  you  want  tremendously  to  catch  on. 
And  it's  that  I'm  going  to  take  as  my  security.  In 
this  way.  In  order  to  learn  whether  your  uncle 
Nicholas,  to  oblige  you,  is  willing  to  come  in  with 
Patterson  and  myself  in  this  affair,  you  must  first 
know  what  the  affair  is  (as  you  very  justly  remarked)  ; 


237 


I  must  therefore  tell  you  the  whole  scheme  —  show 
all  my  hand.  Now,  then,  if  I  do  this,  and  your  un 
cle  doesn't  take  it  up,  then  not  only  you  don't  get  in 
yourself,  but  if  I  see  the  slightest  indication  that  my 
confidence  has  been  abused,  I  sell  out  of  that  steam 
ship  firm  instanter,  and,  as  I'm  virtually  the  firm, 
you  know  what  that  will  mean  !  And  the  one  other 
property  you  have — that  stock — you'll  be  surprised 
to  see  how  it  '11  go  down  to  next  to  nothing  on  the 
street.  'Tvvon't  hurt  me,  you  know.  As  for  you, 
you'll  deserve  it  all,  and  more,  too,  for  having  been  a 
dunderhead !" 

"  I  accept  the  terms,"  answered  Willoughby.  "  Un 
der  the  circumstances,  they're  not  even  hard.  If  I 
fail,  I  am  a  dunderhead!  —  I  shall  be  the  first  to 
say  it.  But  I  sha'n't  fail."  (Even  at  this  moment, 
though  he  was  intensely  absorbed,  his  eye  was  struck 
by  the  contrast  between  the  keen,  hard  expression  of 
Horace  Chase's  face  and  his  flower-decked  hat ;  be 
tween  the  dry  tones  of  his  voice  and  the  care  with 
which  he  still  held  his  wife's  little  dog,  who  at  this 
instant,  after  a  long  yawn,  affectionately  licked  the 
hand  that  held  him,  ringing  by  the  motion  the  three 
small  silver  bells  with  which  his  young  mistress  had 
adorned  his  collar.)  "  If  I  am  to  go  to  California 
with  you  next  week,  I  have  no  time  to  lose,"  he  went 
on,  promptly.  "For  I  must  first  go  to  New  York,  of 
course,  to  see  my  uncle." 

"  Well,  rather !"  interpolated  Chase. 

"  Couldn't  you  tell  me  now  whatever   I  have   to 


238 


know  ?"  Walter  continued.  "  This  is  as  good  a  place 
as  any.  We  might  walk  off  towards  that  house  on 
the  right,  near  the  shore  ;  there  is  no  danger  of  there 
being  any  jessamine  there.11 

Here  Ruth  appeared.  "  Haven't  you  found  any 
more  ?"  she  asked,  surprised.  "  Mr.  Willoughby,  you 
pretended  to  be  so  much  interested !  As  for  you, 
Horace,  where  is  your  spirit  ?  I  thought  you  liked 
to  be  first  in  everything?" 

"  First  in  war,  first  in  peace,  first  in  the  hearts  of 
his  countrymen,"  quoted  Chase.  "  Here — you'd  bet 
ter  put  your  monkey  in  the  phaeton,"  he  went  on, 
passing  over  Mr.  Trone.  "  He  has  a  little  rheumatism 
in  his  paw.  But  you  must  try  to  bear  it."  His 
voice  had  again  its  humorous  tones ;  the  penetrating 
look  in  his  eyes  had  vanished.  His  wife  standing 
there,  adorned  with  jessamine,  her  face  looking  child 
like  as  she  stroked  her  dog,  seemed  to  change  the 
man  of  a  moment  before  into  an  entirely  different 
being.  In  reality  it  did  not  do  this ;  but  it  brought 
out  another  part  of  his  nature,  and  a  part  equally 
strong.  Ruth  had  taken  off  her  gloves ;  the  gems 
which  her  husband  had  given  her  flashed  on  her 
hands  as  she  lifted  Mr.  Trone  to  her  shoulder  and 
laid  her  cheek  against  his  little  black  head.  "  We 
are  going  for  a  short  walk,  Willoughby  and  I," 
Chase  said — "  over  towards  that  house  on  the  shore. 
We'll  be  back  soon." 

"  That  house  is  Dalton's,"  answered  Ruth,  looking 
in  that  direction.  "  Mrs.  Dalton  makes  the  loveliest 


239 


baskets,  Horace  ;  won't  you  get  me  one  ?  They  are 
always  a  little  one-sided,  and  that  makes  them  much 
more  original,  you  know,  than  those  that  are  for 
sale  in  town." 

"Oh,  it  makes  them  more  original,  does  it?"  re 
peated  Chase. 

When  he  returned,  an  hour  later,  he  brought  the 
'basket. 

Walter  Willoughby  started  that  night  for  New 
York. 


CHAPTER     Xn 

SEVEN  weeks  after  she  had  searched  for  the  first 
jessamine,  Ruth  Chase  was  again  at  St.  Augustine. 
But  in  the  meanwhile  she  had  made  a  long  jour 
ney,  having  accompanied  her  husband  to  California, 
Chase  had  unexpectedly  come  back  to  Florida,  to 
see  David  Patterson.  When  he  reached  New  York 
on  his  return  from  the  West,  and  learned  that  Pat 
terson  had  been  stricken  down  by  illness  at  Palatka, 
he  decided  that  the  best  thing  he  could  do  would 
be  to  go  to  Palatka  himself  immediately. 

Ruth  was  delighted.  "  That  means  St.  Augustine 
for  me,  doesn't  it?  Mother  and  Dolly  are  still  there. 
Oh,  I  am  so  glad  !" 

"  Why,  Ruthie,  do  you  care  so  much  about  it 
as  all  that  ?  Why  didn't  you  say  so  before  ?"  said 
Chase,  looking  up  from  his  letters.  "  Then  I  could 
have  taken  you  down  there  in  any  case.  Whereas 
now  it's  only  this  accident  of  Patterson's  being  laid 
up  that  has  made  me  decide  to  go.  You  must  tell 
me  what  you  want,-  always.  It's  the  only  way  we 
can  possibly  get  along,"  he  concluded,  with  mock 
severity. 

Ruth  gazed  at  the  fire ;  for  in  New  York,  at  the 
end  of  March,  it  was  still  cold.  "  I  love  St.  Angus- 


241 


tine.  I  was  50  happy  there  this  winter,"  she  said, 
musingly. 

"  Shall  I  build  you  a  house  near  the  sea-wall  ?" 
inquired  her  husband,  gathering  up  his  letters  and 
telegrams.  As  he  left  the  room,  he  paused  beside  her 
long  enough  to  pass  his  hand  fondly  over  her  hair. 

It  was  arranged  that  AValter  Willoughby,  who  had 
returned  with  them  from  California,  should  also  ac 
company  them  southward.  For  there  were  certain 
details  of  the  Western  enterprise  which  Patterson 
understood  better  than  any  one  else  did,  as  he  had 
devoted  his  attention  to  them  for  six  months ;  it 
now  became  important  that  these  details  should  be 
explained  to  the  younger  man,  in  the  (possible)  case 
of  Patterson's  being  laid  up  for  some  time  longer. 
After  one  day  in  New  York,  therefore,  Chase  and 
his  wife  and  young  Willoughby  started  for  the  land 
of  flowers.  At  Savannah  a  telegram  met  them: 
"  Horace  Chase,  Pulasld  House,  Savannah.  Come 
alone.  Patterson." 

"  When  he's  sick,  he  is  always  tremendously 
scared,"  commented  Chase.  "  I  suppose  we  shall 
have  to  humor  him.  But  I'll  soon  stir  him  up,  and 
make  him  feel  better,  Walter,  and  then  I'll  wire  for 
you  to  come  over  at  once.  Probably  within  twenty- 
four  hours."  After  taking  his  wife  to  St.  Augus 
tine,  he  crossed  to  Palatka  alone.  Walter  was  to 
wait  at  St.  Augustine  for  further  directions. 

The  young  New-Yorker  agreed  to  everything.  He 
was  in  excellent  spirits ;  throughout  the  whole  Cali- 

1G 


242 


fornian  expedition  he  had,  in  truth,  been  living  in  a 
state  of  inward  excitement,  though  his  face  showed 
nothing  of  it.  For  his  uncle  had  consented,  and  he 
(Walter)  had  got  his  foot  into  the  stirrup  at  last. 
The  ride  might  be  breakneck,  and  it  might  be  hard  ; 
but  at  least  it  would  not  be  long,  and  it  would  end 
at  the  wished-for  goal.  Between  two  such  riders  as 
Patterson  and  Horace  Chase  (Horace  Chase  especial 
ly  ;  best  of  all,  Horace  Chase  !),  he  could  not  fall  be 
hind  ;  they  would  sweep  him  along  between  them ; 
he  should  come  in  abreast.  A  closer  acquaintance 
with  Chase  had  only  increased  his  admiration  for 
the  man's  extraordinary  mind.  "  If  ever  there  was 
a  genius  for  directing  big  combinations,  here's  one 
with  a  vengeance !"  he  said  to  himself. 

On  the  second  day  after  Chase's  departure  for  Pa- 
latka,  Ruth  and  her  mother,  in  the  late  afternoon, 
drove  across  the  Sebastian  River  by  way  of  the  red 
bridge,  and  thence  to  the  barrens.  These  great  tree- 
dotted  Florida  prairies  possess  a  charm  for  far-sighted 
eyes ;  their  broad,  unfenced,  unguarded  expanses, 
stretching  away  on  all  sides,  carpeted  with  flowers 
and  ferns,  and  the  fans  of  the  dwarf -palmetto,  have 
an  air  of  freedom  that  is  alluring.  Walter  Willough- 
by  accompanied  the  two  ladies,  perched  in  the  little 
seat  behind.  He  had,  in  fact,  nothing  else  to  do,  as 
Chase  had  as  yet  sent  no  telegram. 
*  They  drove  first  to  the  Ponce  de  Leon  spring. 
And  Ruth  made  them  drink :  "  so  that  we  shall  al 
ways  be  young !" 


243 


Leaving  the  spring,  they  drove  to  another  part  of 
the  barren.  Here  the  violets  grew  so  thickly  that 
they  made  the  ground  blue.  "  I  must  have  some," 
said  Ruth,  joyously.  And  leaving  her  mother  com 
fortably  leaning  back  in  the  phaeton  under  her 
white  umbrella,  she  jumped  out  and  began  to  gather 
the  flowers  with  her  usual  haste  and  impetuosity. 
"  Why  don't  you  come  and  help  ?"  she  said  to  Wal 
ter.  "  You're  terribly  lazy.  Tie  the  ponies  to  that 
tree,  and  set  to  work." 

Walter  obeyed.  But  he  only  gathered  eight  vio 
lets  ;  then  he  stopped,  and  stood  fanning  himself 
with  his  straw  hat.  "  It  is  very  warm,"  he  said. 
"  Won't  you  let  me  get  pitcher  -  plants  instead  ? 
There  are  ever  so  many  over  there.  They  are  so 
large  that  eight  of  them  will  make  a  splendid  show." 
Daily  companionship  for  seven  weeks  had  made  him 
feel  thoroughly  at  his  ease  with  her.  He  had  for 
given  her  for  those  old  delays  which  she  had  un 
knowingly  caused  in  his  plans ;  he  now  associated 
her  with  his  good-fortune,  with  his  high  hopes.  She 
had  been  in  the  gayest  spirits  throughout  their  stay 
in  California,  and  this,  too,  had  chimed  in  with  his 
mood. 

"  Pitcher-plants  !"  said  Ruth.  "  Horrid,  murder 
ing  things !  Let  them  alone."  But  they  strolled 
that  way  to  look  at  them  ;  and  then  they  walked  on 
towards  a  ridge,  where  she  was  sure  that  they  should 
find  calopogon.  Beyond  the  ridge  there  was  a  clear 
pool,  whose  amber-colored  water  rested  on  a  bed  of 


244 


silver  sand;  along  one  side  rose  the  tall,  delicate 
plumes  of  the  Osmunda  regalis.  "  Isn't  it  lovely  ?" 
said  Ruth.  "  I  don't  believe  there  is  anything  more 
beautiful  in  all  Florida  !" 

"  Yes,  one  thing,"  thought  Walter,  "  and  that  is 
Ruth  Chase."  For  Ruth's  beauty  had  deepened  rich 
ly  during  the  past  half-year.  It  was  not  Walter  alone 
who  had  noticed  the  change,  every  one  spoke  of  it. 
At  present  his  eyes  could  not  but  note  it  once  more, 
as  she  stood  there  in  her  white  dress  under  the 
ferns. 

Then  suddenly  his  thoughts  were  diverted  in  an 
other  direction.  "  I'm  sure  that's  for  me  !"  he  ex 
claimed.  For  he  had  discerned  in  the  distance  a 
little  negro  boy  on  horseback.  "  He  is  bringing  me 
my  telegram  at  last — I  mean  the  one  from  your  hus 
band,  Mrs.  Chase,  which  I  have  been  expecting  for 
two  days.  The  stupid  is  following  the  road.  I  won 
der  if  I  couldn't  make  him  see  me  from  here,  so  as 
to  gain  time  ?"  And  taking  off  his  hat,  he  waved  it 
high  in  the  air.  But  the  child  kept  on  his  course. 
"  Perhaps  I  can  make  him  hear,"  said  Walter.  He 
shouted,  whistled,  called.  But  all  to  no  purpose. 
"  We  might  as  well  go  back  towards  the  phaeton," 
he  suggested.  And  they  started. 

"  What  will  the  telegram  be  ?"  said  Ruth,  arrang 
ing  her  violets  as  she  walked  on.  "  Have  you  any 
idea?" 

"  A  very  clear  one ;  it  will  tell  me  to  arrive  at 
Palatka  as  soon  as  possible." 


245 


"And,  from  Palatka,  do  you  go  back  to  New 
York  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  immediately." 

"  We  shall  be  in  New  York,  too,  by  the  middle  of 
April.  You  are  to  stay  in  New  York,  aren't  you  ?" 

"  Yes.  It  is  to  be  my  post  in  the  game  which 
will  end,  we  trust,  in  your  husband's  piling  up  still 
higher  his  great  fortune,  while  I  shall  have  laid  very 
solidly  the  foundation  of  mine.  Good !  that  boy  sees 
me  at  last."  For  the  little  negro,  suddenly  leaving 
the  road,  was  galloping  directly  towards  them  over 
the  barren,  his  bare  feet  napping  the  flanks  of  his 
horse  to  increase  its  speed.  Walter  ran  forward  to 
meet  him,  took  the  telegram,  tore  open  the  envelope, 
and  read  the  message  within.  Then,  after  rewarding 
the  messenger  (who  went  back  to  town  in  joyful 
opulence),  he  returned  to  Ruth. 

"  Palatka  ?"  she  said,  as  he  came  up. 

"No.  Something  entirely  differe-nt.  And  very  un 
expected.  I  am  to  go  to  California;  I  am  to  start 
to-morrow  morning.  And  I  am  to  stay  there — live 
there.  It  will  be  for  a  year  or  two,  I  suppose ;  at 
any  rate,  until  this  new  campaign  of  your  husband's 
planning  has  been  fought  out  and  won — as  won  it 
surely  will  be.  For  Patterson,  it  seems,  won't  be 
able  to  go  at  present,  and  I  am  to  take  his  place. 
Later,  he  hopes  to  be  on  the  spot.  But  even  then  I 
am  to  remain,  they  tell  me.  My  instructions  will  be 
here  to-night  by  letter."  He  felt,  inwardly,  a  great 
sense  of  triumph  that  he  was  considered  competent 


246 


— already  considered  competent— to  take  charge  of 
the  more  important  post.  And  as  he  put  the  tele 
gram  in  his  pocket,  the  anticipation  of  success  came 
to  him  like  a  breeze  charged  with  perfume  ;  his 
pulses  had  a  firm,  quick  beat;  the  future — a  future 
of  his  own  choosing — unrolled  itself  brightly  before 
him. 

Ruth  had  made  no  reply.  After  a  moment  her 
silence  struck  him — struck  him  even  in  his  preoccu 
pation — and  he  turned  to  look  at  her. 

Her  face  had  a  strange,  stiffened  aspect,  as  though 
her  breathing  had  suddenly  been  arrested. 

"  Are  you  ill  ?"  he  asked,  alarmed. 

"  Oh  no  ;  I  am  only  tired.  Where  is  the  phaeton  ? 
I  have  lost  sight  of  it." 

"  Over  there ;  don't  you  see  your  mother's  white 
parasol  ?" 

"  Let  us  go  back  to  her.  But  no — not  just  yet. 
I'll  wait  a  moment  or  two,  as  I'm  so  tired."  And, 
turning  her  back  to  him,  she  sat  down  on  a  fallen 
pine-tree,  and  rested  her  head  on  her  hand. 

"  I  can  bring  the  phaeton  over  here  ?"  Walter  sug 
gested.  "  There  is  no  road,  but  the  ground  is 
smooth." 

She  shook  her  head. 

After  a  moment  he  began  to  talk ;  partly  to  fill 
the  pause,  partly  to  give  expression  to  the  thoughts 
that  occupied  his  own  mind — occupied  it  so  fully 
that  he  did  not  give  close  heed  to  her.  She  was 
suddenly  tired.  Well,  that  was  nothing  unusual ;  it 


247 


was  always  something  sudden ;  generally  a  sudden 
gayety.  At  any  rate,  she  could  rest  there  comfort 
ably  until  she  felt  able  to  go  on.  "  It's  very  odd  to 
me  to  think  that  to-morrow  I  shall  be  on  my  way  to 
California  again,"  he  began.  "  That's  what  I  get  by 
being  the  poor  one  of  the  company,  Mrs.  Chase  ! 
Your  husband,  and  Patterson,  and  my  uncle,  they  sit 
comfortably  at  home ;  but  they  send  me  from  pillar 
to  post  without  the  least  scruple.  I  don't  mind  the 
going.  But  the  staying — that's  a  change  indeed. 
To  live  in  California —  I  have  had  a  good  many 
ideas  in  my  mind,  but  I  confess  I  have  never  had 
that."  He  laughed.  But  it  was  easy  to  see  that  the 
idea  pleased  him  greatly. 

Ruth  turned.  Her  eyes  met  his.  And  then, 
startled,  amazed,  the  young  man  read  in  their  depths 
something  that  was  to  him  an  intense  surprise. 

At  the  same  moment  she  rose.  "  I  can  go  now. 
Mother  will  be  wondering  where  I  am,"  she  said. 

He  accompanied  her  in  silence,  his  mind  in  a 
whirl.  She  said  a  few  words  on  ordinary  subjects. 
Every  now  and  then  her  voice  came  near  failing 
entirely,  and  she  paused.  But  she  always  began 
again.  Just  before  she  reached  the  phaeton  she 
took  a  gray  gauze  veil  from  her  pocket,  and  tied  it 
hastily  across  her  face  under  her  broad-brimmed  hat. 
Mrs.  Franklin  was  waiting  for  them  in  lazy  tranquil 
lity.  While  Walter  untied  the  ponies,  Ruth  took  the 
small  seat  behind.  "  Just  for  a  change,"  she  ex 
plained.  Walter,  therefore,  in  her  vacant  place, 


248 


drove  them  back  to  town.  Having  taken  Mrs. 
Franklin  home,  lie  left  Ruth  at  her  own  door.  "  As 
I'm  off  early  to-morrow  morning,  Mrs.  Chase,  I'll 
bid  you  good-by  now,"  he  said,  as  the  waiting  ser 
vant  came  forward  to  the  ponies'  heads.  She  gave 
him  her  hand.  He  could  not  see  her  face  distinctly 
through  that  baffling  gray  veil. 

That  evening  at  eleven  o'clock  he  passed  the 
house  again ;  he  was  taking  a  farewell  stroll  on  the 
sea-wall.  As  he  went  by,  he  saw  that  there  was  a 
light  in  the  drawing-room.  "  She  has  not  gone  to 
bed,"  he  thought.  He  jumped  down  from  the  wall, 
crossed  the  road,  and,  going  up  the  steps,  put  his 
hand  on  the  bell -knob.  But  a  sudden  temptation 
took  possession  of  him,  and,  instead  of  ringing,  he 
opened  the  door.  "  If  her  mother  is  with  her,  I'll 
pretend  that  I  found  it  ajar,"  he  said  to  himself. 
But  there  were  no  voices,  all  was  still.  His  step  had 
made  no  sound  on  the  thick  rugs,  and,  advancing,  he 
drew  aside  a  curtain.  On  a  couch  in  a  corner  of 
the  drawing-room  was  Ruth  Chase,  alone,  her  face 
hidden  in  her  hands. 

She  started  to  her  feet  as  he  came  in.  "After  all, 
Mrs.  Chase,  I  found  that  I  wanted  more  of  a  good- 
by — "  he  began.  And  then,  a  second  time,  in  her 
eyes  he  read  the  astonishing,  bewildering  story. 
"  She  is  still  unconscious  of  what  it  is,"  he  thought. 
"  If  I  go  away  at  once — at  once  and  forever — no 
harm  is  done.  And  that  is  what  I  shall  do."  This 
was  his  intention,  and  he  knew  that  he  should  follow 


249 


it.  The  very  certainty,  however,  made  him  allow 
himself  a  moment  or  two  of  delay.  For  how  beau 
tiful  she  was,  and  how  deeply  she  loved  him  !  He 
could  not  help  offering,  as  it  were,  a  tribute  to  both  ; 
it  seemed  to  him  that  he  would  be  a  boor  not  to  do 
so.  And  then,  before  he  knew  it,  he  had  gone  fur 
ther.  "  You  see  how  it  is  with  me,"  he  began.  "  You 
see  that  I  love  you ;  I  myself  did  not  know  it  until 
now."  (What  was  this  he  was  telling  her?  And 
somehow,  for  the  moment,  it  was  true  !)  "  Don't 
think  that  I  do  not  understand,"  he  went  on.  "  I 
understand  all — all — "  While  he  was  uttering  these 
words  he  met  her  eyes  again.  And  then  he  felt  that 
he  was  losing  his  head.  "  What  am  I  doing  ?  I'm 
not  an  abject  fool !"  he  managed  to  say  to  himself, 
mutely — mutely  but  violently.  And  he  left  the  house. 
It  took  all  his  strength  to  do  it. 


CHAPTER   XIII 

HORACE  CHASE,  meanwhile,  had  arrived  at  Palatka, 
and  opened  the  discussion  with  David  Patterson  which 
ended  in  the  decision  to  despatch  young  AVilloughby 
to  California  without  delay.  Having  sent  these  in 
structions,  he  remained  at  Palatka  two  days  longer, 
his  intention  being  to  cross,  on  the  third  day,  to  St. 
Augustine,  get  his  wife  and  go  back  to  New  York, 
stopping  on  the  way  at  Raleigh  in  order  to  see  Jared. 
Always  prompt,  as  soon  as  the  question  of  the  repre 
sentative  in  California  was  settled,  his  thoughts  had 
turned  towards  his  brother-in-law ;  the  proper  moment 
had  now  arrived  for  fulfilling  his  promises  concerning 
him.  But  in  answer  to  this  note  to  Ruth,  mention 
ing  this  plan,  there  had  come  a  long  epistle  from  Mrs. 
Franklin.  Ruth,  she  wrote,  wanted  to  go  north  by 
sea ;  it  was  a  sudden  fancy  that  had  come  to  her. 
Her  wish  was  to  go  by  the  Dictator  to  Charleston, 
and  there  change  for  the  larger  steamer.  "  As  Dolly 
and  I  intend  to  start  towards  L'Hommedicu  next 
week,  Ruth's  idea  is  that  we  could  go  together  as  far 
as  Charleston  ;  for  the  rest  of  the  way,  Felicite  could 
look  after  her.  You  need  not  therefore  take  the 
trouble  to  come  to  St.  Augustine  at  all,  she  says ;  you 
can  go  directly  from  Palatka  to  Raleigh.  All  this 


251 


sounds  a  little  self-willed.  But,  my  dear  Mr.  Chase, 
if  we  spoiled  her  more  or  less  in  the  beginning,  you 
must  acknowledge  that  you  have  carried  on  the  proc 
ess!  In  the  eighteen  months  that  have  passed  since 
your  marriage,  have  you  ever  refused  compliance  with 
even  one  of  her  whims  ?  I  think  not.  On  the  con 
trary,  I  fear  you  encourage  them ;  you  always  seem 
to  me  to  be  waiting,  with  an  inward  laugh,  to  see 
what  on  earth  she  will  suggest  next !"  Thus  wrote 
the  mother  in  a  joking  strain.  Then,  turning  to  the 
subject  which  was  more  important  to  her,  she  filled 
three  sheets  with  her  joyful  anticipations  concerning 
her  son.  "  Insist  upon  his  resigning  his  present  place 
on  the  spot,'1  she  urged;  "  take  no  denial.  Make  him 
go  with  you  to  New  York.  Then  you  will  be  sure  of 
him." 

"  The  old  lady  seems  to  think  he  will  be  a  great 
acquisition,"  said  Chase  to  himself,  humorously. 

Her  statement  that  he  had,  from  the  first,  allowed 
his  wife  to  follow  her  fancies  unchecked  was  a  true 
one.  It  amused  him  to  do  this,  amused  him  to  watch 
an  idea  dawn,  and  then,  in  a  few  minutes,  take  such 
entire  possession  of  her  that  it  shook  her  hard — only 
to  leave  her  and  vanish  with  equal  suddenness.  The 
element  of  the  unexpected  in  her  was  a  constant  en 
tertainment  to  him.  Her  heedlessness,  her  feminine 
indifference  to  logic,  to  the  inevitable  sequences  of 
cause  and  effect — this,  too,  had  given  him  many  a 
moment  of  mirth.  If  her  face  had  been  less  lovely, 
these  characteristics  would  have  worn,  perhaps,  an- 


252 


other  aspect.  Bat  in  that  case  Horace  Chase  would 
not  have  been  their  judge;  for  it  was  this  alluring 
beauty  (unconsciously  alluring)  which  had  attracted 
him,  which  had  made  him  fall  in  love  with  her.  He 
•was  a  man  whose  life,  up  to  the  time  of  his  engage 
ment  to  Ruth,  had  been  irregular.  But,  though  ir 
regular,  it  had  not  been  uncontrolled ;  he  had  al 
ways  been  able  to  say,  "  Thus  far ;  no  farther  !"  But 
though  her  beauty  had  been  the  first  lure,  he  was  now 
profoundly  attached  to  his  wife ;  his  pride  in  her 
was  profound,  his  greatest  pleasure  was  to  make  her 
happy. 

"  By  sea  to  New  York,  is  it  ?"  he  said  to  himself, 
as  his  eyes  hastily  glanced  through  the  remainder  of 
Mrs.  Franklin's  long  letter  (that  is,  the  three  sheets 
about  Jared).  "  Well,  she  is  a  capital  sailor,  that's 
one  comfort.  Let's  see  ;  which  of  our  steamers  will 
she  hit  at  Charleston  ?" 

He  was  not  annoyed  because  Ruth  had  not  written, 
herself;  Ruth  did  not  like  to  write  letters.  But  it 
was  a  surprise  to  him  that  she  should,  of  her  own 
accord,  relinquish  an  opportunity  to  see  her  brother. 
"  I  reckon  she  is  counting  upon  my  taking  him  up  to 
New  York  with  me,  so  that  she'll  see  him  on  the 
dock  waiting  for  her  when  her  steamer  comes  in," 
he  thought.  "  I  guess  she  knows,  too,  that  I'm  like 
ly  to  succeed  better  with  Jared  when  she's  out  of  the 
business  entirely.  Franklin  isn't  going  to  be  boosted 
by  his  sister — that's  been  his  fixed  notion  all  along. 
He  doesn't  suspect  that  his  sister's  nowhere  in  the 


253 


matter  compared  with  his  wife  ;  his  whole  position 
of  being  independent  of  me,  and  all  that,  has  been  so 
undermined  and  honeycombed  by  Gen,  that,  in  real 
ity,  his  sticking  it  out  there  at  Raleigh  is  a  farce  ! 
But  he  doesn't  know  it.  It's  lucky  he  don't !" 

Ruth  had  her  way,  as  usual.  Chase  went  north 
ward  from  Palatka  to  Savannah,  where  he  had  busi 
ness  ;  thence  he  was  to  go  to  Raleigh.  His  wife, 
meanwhile,  remained  in  St.  Augustine  for  one  week 
longer,  and  her  mother  and  sister,  closing  their  own 
home,  spent  the  time  with  her. 

Their  last  day  came  ;  they  were  to  leave  St.  Augus 
tine  on  the  morrow.  Early  in  the  afternoon,  Ruth 
disappeared.  When  they  were  beginning  to  wonder 
where  she  was,  Felicite  brought  them  a  note.  Mrs. 
Franklin  read  it,  and  laughed.  "  She  has  gone  for  a 
sail ;  by  herself!" 

"  She  might  have  told  us.  We  could  have  gone 
with  her,"  said  Dolly,  irritably.  "  I  don't  like  her 
being  alone." 

"  Oh,  she  is  safe  enough,  as  far  as  that  goes," 
answered  the  mother,  comfortably.  "  She  has  taken 
old  Donato,  who,  in  spite  of  his  seventy  years,  is  an 
excellent  sailor  ;  and  he  has,  too,  a  very  good  boat." 

Dolly  went  to  the  window.  "  You  are  not  in  the 
least  thinking  of  Ruth,  mother !  You  are  thinking 
of  Jared ;  you  are  thinking  that  if  he  takes  that  place 
in  New  York,  we  must  somehow  get  up  there  to  see 
him  this  summer;  and  you  are  planning  to  go  to 


254 


that  boarding-house  on  Staten  Island  that  the  com 
modore  told  you  about." 

Mrs.  Franklin,  who  really  was  thinking  of  Staten 
Island,  rolled  a  lamplighter  the  wrong  way.  "  It  is 
happening  oftener  and  oftener !"  she  said  to  herself. 
"  Is  she  going  to  die  ?"  And  she  glanced  towards 
her  invalid  daughter  with  the  old  pang  of  loving  pity 
quickened  for  the  moment  to  trepidation. 

Dolly's  back  was  turned  ;  she  was  gazing  down  the 
inlet.  The  house,  which  was  formerly  the  residence 
of  General  Worth,  the  Military  Governor  of  Florida, 
commanded  an  uninterrupted  view  of  the  Matanzas 
north  and  south,  and,  over  the  low  line  of  Anastasia 
Island,  even  the  smallest  sail  going  towards  the  ocean 
was  visible.  But  in  spite  of  this  long  expanse  of 
water,  Dolly  could  not  see  old  Donato's  boat.  "  His 
Grand  suspects  nothing  !  Are  mothers  always  so 
blind?"  she  thought.  "So  secure?  But  she  shall 
never  know  anything  through  me — dear  old  Grand  ! 
Ruth  has  of  course  gone  to  say  good-bye  to  the 
places  which  are  associated  in  her  mind  with  that 
hateful  Willoughby.  If  I  could  only  have  known  it, 
I  would  have  kept  her  from  it  at  any  price.  These 
long  hours  alone  which  she  covets  so — they  are  the 
worst  things,  the  worst !" 

Ruth's  boat  was  far  out  of  sight ;  at  this  moment 
she  was  landing  on  Anastasia  at  the  point  where  she 
had  disembarked  with  Walter  on  the  day  of  the  ex 
cursion.  Telling  the  old  Minorcan  to  wait  for  her, 
she  sought  for  the  little  Carib  trail,  and  followed  it 


255 


inland  to  the  pool.  Here  she  spent  half  an  hour, 
seated  in  the  loop  of  the  vine  where  she  had  sat  be 
fore.  Then,  rising,  she  slowly 'retraced  their  former 
course  along  the  low  ridge. 

Since  Walter's  departure  —  he  had  left  St.  Au 
gustine"  at  dawn  after  that  strange  evening  visit — 
Ruth  had  been  the  prey  of  two  moods,  tossed  from 
one  to  the  other  helplessly  ;  for  the  feelings  which 
these  moods  by  turn  excited  were  so  strong  that  she 
had  had  no  volition  of  her  own — she  had  been  power 
less  against  them.  One  of  these  mental  states  (the 
one  that  possessed  her  now)  was  joy.  The  other 
was  aching  pain. 

For  her  fate  had  come  upon  her,  as  it  was  sure 
from  the  first  to  come.  And  it  found  her  defence 
less  ;  those  who  should  have  foreseen  it  had  neither 
guarded  her  against  it,  nor  trained  her  so  that  she 
could  guard  herself.  She  had  no  conception  of  life 
— no  one  had  ever  given  her  such  a  conception — as 
a  lesson  in.  self-control ;  from  her  childhood  all  her 
wishes  had  been  granted.  It  is  true  that  these 
wishes  had  been  simple.  But  that  was  because  she 
had  known  no  other  standard  ;  the  degree  of  indul 
gence  (and  of  self-indulgence)  was  as  great  as  if  they 
had  been  extravagant.  If  her  disposition  as  a  girl 
had  been  selfish,  it  was  unconscious  selfishness ;  for 
her  mother,  her  elder  sister,  and  her  brother  had 
never  required  anything  from  her  save  that  she 
should  be  happy.  With  her  joyous  nature,  life  had 
always  been  delightful  to  her,  and  her  marriage  had 


256 


only  made  it  more  delightful.  For  Horace  Chase,  un 
consciously,  had  adopted  the  habit  that  the  family  had 
always  had ;  they  never  expected  Ruth  to  take  re 
sponsibility,  to  be  serious,  and,  in  the  same  way,  he 
never  expected  it.  And  he  loved  to  see  her  con 
tented,  just  as  they  had  loved  it.  There  was  some 
excuse  for  them  all  in  the  fact  that  Ruth's  content 
ment  was  a  very  charming  thing — it  was  so  natural 
and  exuberant. 

And,  on  her  side,  this  girl  had  married  Horace 
Chase  first  of  all  because  she  liked  him.  "What  he 
had  done  for  her  brother,  and  his  wealth — these  two 
influences  had  come  only  second,  and  would  not 
have  sufficed  without  the  first;  her  affection  (for  it 
was  affection)  had  been  won  by  his  kindness  to  her 
self.  Since  their  marriage  his  lavish  generosity  had 
pleased  her,  and  gratified  her  imagination.  But  his 
delicate  consideration  for  her — this  girl  nineteen 
years  younger  than  himself  —  and  his  unselfishness, 
these  she  had  not  appreciated ;  she  supposed  that 
husbands  were,  as  a  matter  of  course,  like  that.  As 
it  happened,  she  had  not  a  single  girl  friend  who 
had  married,  from  whose  face  (if  not  from  whose 
words  also)  she  might  have  divined  other  ways. 
Thus  she  had  lived  on,  accepting  everything  in  her 
easy,  epicurean  fashion,  until  into  her  life  had  come 
love — this  love  for  Walter  Willoughby. 

Walter  devoting  himself  to  Mrs.  Chase  for  his  own 
purposes,  had  never  had  the  slightest  intention  of 
falling  in  love  with  her ;  in  truth,  such  a  catastrophe 


257 


(it  would  have  seemed  to  him  nothing  less)  would 
have  marred  all  his  plans.  He  had  wished  only  to 
amuse  her.  And,  in  the  beginning,  it  had  been  in 
truth  his  gay  spirits  which  had  attracted  Ruth,  for 
she  possessed  gay  spirits  herself.  She  had  been  un 
aware  of  the  nature  of  the  feeling  which  was  taking 
possession  of  her  5  her  realization  went  no  further 
than  that  life  was  now  much  more  interesting ;  and, 
with  her  rich  capacity  for  enjoyment,  she  had  grasped 
this  new  pleasure  eagerly.  It  was  this  which  had 
made  her  beauty  so  much  more  rich  and  vivid.  It 
was  this  which  had  caused  her  to  exclaim,  "  How 
delightful  it  is  to  live  !"  If  obstacles  had  interfered, 
the  pain  of  separation  might  have  opened  her  eyes, 
at  an  earlier  period,  to  the  nature  of  her  attachment. 
But,  owing  to  the  circumstances  of  the  case,  the 
junior  partner  had  been  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Chase 
almost  daily  ever  since  their  return  from  Europe. 
That  announcement,  therefore,  out  on  the  barrens — 
his  own  announcement — of  his  departure  the  next 
morning,  and  for  an  indefinite  stay,  had  come  upon 
her  like  the  chill  of  sudden  death.  And  then  in  the 
evening,  while  she  was  still  benumbed  and  pulseless, 
had  followed  his  strange,  short  visit,  and  the  wild 
thrill  of  joy  in  her  heart  over  his  declaration  of  his 
own  love  for  her.  For  he  had  said  it,  he  had 
said  it ! 

These  two  conflicting  tides  —  the  pain  of  his 
absence  and  the  joy  of  his  love  —  had  held  entire 
possession  of  her  ever  since.  But  passionate  though 

17 


258 


her  nature  was,  in  matters  of  feeling  it  was  deeply 
reticent  as  well,  and  no  one  had  noticed  any  change 
in  her  save  Dolly,  Dolly  who  had  divined  something 
from  her  sister's  new  desire  to  be  alone.  Never  be 
fore  had  Ruth  wished  to  be  alone  ;  but  now  she  went 
off  for  long  walks  by  herself ;  and  this  plan  for  re 
turning  to  New  York  by  sea  —  that  was  simply  the 
same  thing.  From  the  moment  of  Ruth's  engage 
ment,  Dolly  had  been  haunted  by  a  terrible  fear. 
Disliking  Horace  Chase  herself,  she  did  not  believe 
that  he  would  be  able  to  keep  forever  a  supreme 
place  in  his  wife's  heart.  And  then  ?  Would  Ruth 
be  content  to  live  on,  as  so  many  wives  live,  with 
this  supreme  place  unoccupied  ?  It  was  her  dread  of 
this,  a  dread  which  had  suddenly  become  personified, 
that  had  made  her  form  one  of  almost  all  the  excur 
sions  of  this  Florida  winter  ;  she  had  gone  whenever 
she  was  able,  and  often  when  she  was  unable  —  at 
least,  she  would  be  present,  she  would  mount  guard. 

But  in  spite  of  her  guardianship,  something  had 
evidently  happened.  What  was  it  ?  Was  this  desire 
of  Ruth's  to  be  alone  a  good  sign  or  a  bad  sign  ? 
Did  it  come  from  happiness  or  unhappiness  ?  "If 
it  is  unhappiness,  she  will  throw  it  off,"  Dolly  told 
herself.  "  She  hates  suffering.  She  will  manage, 
somehow,  to  rid  herself  of  it."  Thus  she  tried  to 
reassure  herself. 

Ruth  gave  not  only  the  afternoon  but  the  evening 
to  her  pilgrimage  ;  she  visited  all  the  places  where 
she  had  been  with  Walter.  When  the  twilight  had 


259 


deepened  to  night,  she  came  back  to  town,  and, 
still  accompanied  by  Donato,  she  went  to  the  old 
fort,  and  out  the  shell  road ;  finally  she  paid  a  visit 
to  Andalusia.  A  bright  moon  was  shining;  over 
the  low  land  blew  a  perfumed  breeze.  Andalusia 
was  deserted,  Mrs.  Kip  had  gone  to  North  Carolina. 
Bribing  Uncle  Jack,  the  venerable  ex-slave  who  lived 
in  a  little  cabin  under  the  bananas  near  the  gate, 
Ruth  went  in,  and  leaving  her  body  -  guard,  the  old 
fisherman,  resting  on  a  bench,  she  wandered  alone 
among  the  flowers.  "You  see  that  I  love  you.  I 
myself  did  not  know  it  until  now  " — this  was  the 
talisman  which  was  making  her  so  happy ;  two  brief 
phrases  uttered  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  phrases 
preceded  by  nothing,  followed  by  nothing.  It  was 
a  proof  of  the  simplicity  of  her  nature,  its  uncon 
sciousness  of  half  -  motives,  half  -  meanings,  that  she 
should  think  these  few  words  so  conclusive.  But  to 
her  they  were  final.  Direct  herself,  she  supposed 
that  others  were  the  same.  She  did  not  go  beyond 
her  talisman ;  she  did  not  reason  about  it,  or  plan. 
In  fact,  she  did  not  think  at  all ;  she  only  felt — felt 
each  syllable  take  a  treasure  in  her  heart,  and 
brooded  over  it  happily.  And  as  she  wandered  to 
and  fro  in  the  moonlight,  it  was  as  well  that  Walter 
did  not  see  her.  He  did  not  love  her — no.  He  had 
no  wish  to  love  her ;  it  would  have  interfered  with 
all  his  plans.  But  if  he  had  beheld  her  now,  he 
would  have  succumbed — succumbed,  at  least,  for  the 
moment,  as  he  had  done  before.  He  was  not  there, 


260 


however.  And  lie  had  no  intention  of  being  there, 
of  being  anywhere  near  Horace  Chase's  wife  for  a 
long  time  to  come.  "I'll  keep  out  of  that!"  he  had 
said  to  himself,  determinedly. 

It  was  midnight  when  at  last  Ruth  returned  home, 
coming  into  the  drawing-room  like  a  vision,  in  her 
white  dress,  with  her  arms  full  of  flowers. 

"Well,  have  you  had  enough  of  prowling?"  asked 
her  mother,  sleepily.  "  I  must  say  that  it  appears  to 
agree  with  you  !" 

Even  Dolly  was  reassured  by  her  sister's  radiant 
eyes. 

But  later,  when  Felicite  had  left  her  mistress, 
then,  if  Dolly  could  have  opened  the  locked  door, 
her  comfort  would  have  vanished ;  for  the  other 
mood  had  now  taken  possession,  and  lying  prone  on 
a  couch,  with  her  face  hidden,  Ruth  was  battling 
with  her  grief. 

Pain  was  so  new  to  her,  sorrow  so  new !  Inca 
pable  of  enduring  (this  was  what  Dolly  had  hoped), 
many  times  during  the  last  ten  days  she  had  revolted 
against  her  suffering,  and  to-night  she  was  revolting 
anew.  "  I  will  not  care  for  him  ;  it  makes  me  too 
wretched  !"  Leaving  the  couch,  she  strode  angrily 
to  and  fro.  The  three  windows  of  the  large  room — 
it  was  her  dressing-room — stood  open  to  the  warm 
sea-air ;  she  had  put  out  the  candles,  but  the  moon 
light,  entering  in  a  flood,  reflected  her  white  figure 
in  the  long  mirrors  as  she  came  and  went.  Felicite 
had  braided  her  hair  for  the  night,  but  the  strands 


261 


had  become  loosened,  and  the  thick,  waving  mass 
flowed  over  her  shoulders.  "  I  will  not  think  of 
him  ;  I  will  not  /"  And  to  emphasize  it,  she  struck 
her  clinched  hand  with  all  her  force  on  the  stone 
window-seat.  "  It  is  cut.  I'm  glad  !  It  will  make 
me  remember  that  I  am  not  to  think  of  him."  She 
was  intensely  in  earnest  in  her  resolve,  and,  to  help 
herself  towards  other  thoughts,  she  began  to  look 
feverishly  at  the  landscape  outside,  as  though  it  was 
absolutely  necessary  that  she  should  now  resee  and 
recount  each  point  and  line.  "  There  is  the  top  of 
the  light-house  —  and  there  is  the  ocean  —  and  there 
are  the  bushes  near  the  quarry."  She  leaned  out  of 
the  window  so  as  to  see  farther.  "  There  is  the 
North  Beach ;  there  is  the  fort  and  the  lookout 
tower."  Thus  for  a  few  minutes  her  weary  mind 
followed  the  guidance  of  her  will.  "  There  is  the 
bathing  -  house.  And  there  is  the  dock  and  the 
club-house  ;  and  there  is  the  Basin.  Down  there  on 
the  right  is  Fish  Island.  How  lovely  it  all  is  !  I 
wish  I  could  stay  here  forever.  But  even  to-morrow 
night  I  shall  be  gone  ;  I  shall  be  on  the  Dictator. 
And  then  will  come  Charleston.  And  then  New 
York.  (Her  mind  had  now  escaped  again.)  "  And 
then  the  days — and  the  months — and  the  years  with 
out  him  !  Oh,  what  shall  I  do  ?  What  shall  I  do  2" 
And  the  pain  descending,  sharper  than  ever,  she 
sank  down,  and  with  her  arms  on  the  window  -  seat 
and  her  face  on  her  arms,  and  cried  and  cried — cried 
so  long  that  at  last  her  shoulders  fell  forward  stoop- 


262 


ingly,  and  her  whole  slender  frame  lost  its  strength, 
and  drooped  against  the  window  -  sill  like  a  broken 
reed.  Her  despair  held  no  plan  for  trying  to  see 
Walter,  her  destiny  seemed  to  her  fixed  ;  her  revolts 
had  not  been  against  that  destiny,  but  against  her 
pain.  But  something  was  upon  her  now  which  was 
stronger  than  herself,  stronger  than  her  love  of  ease, 
stronger  than  her  dread  of  suffering.  Dolly  knew 
her  well.  But  there  were  some  depths  which  even 
Dolly  did  not  know. 

Dawn  found  her  still  there,  her  hands  and  feet 
cold,  her  face  white  ;  she  had  wept  herself  out — there 
were  no  more  tears  left.  The  sun  came  up ;  she 
watched  it  mechanically.  "  Felicite  mustn't  find  me 
here,"  she  thought.  She  dragged  herself  to  her  feet ; 
all  her  muscles  were  stiff.  Then  going  to  the  bed 
room,  she  fell  into  a  troubled  sleep. 

It  would  be  too  much  to  say  that  during  the  entire 
night  her  mind  had  not  once  turned  towards  her 
husband.  She  had  thought  of  him  now  and  then, 
much  as  she  had  thought  of  her  mother ;  as,  for  in 
stance — would  her  mother  see  any  change  in  her  face 
the  next  morning,  after  this  night  of  tears?  Would 
her  husband  see  any  at  New  York  when  he  arrived  ? 
Whenever  she  remembered  either  one  of  them,  she 
felt  a  sincere  desire  not  to  make  them  unhappy. 
But  this  was  momentary ;  during  most  of  the  night 
the  emotions  that  belonged  to  her  nature  swept  over 
her  with  such  force  that  she  had  no  power,  no  will, 
to  think  of  anything  save  herself. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

HORACE  CHASE,  following  the  suggestion  of  Mrs. 
Franklin  (a  suggestion  which  had  come  in  reality 
from  Ruth),  travelled  northward  to  Raleigh  from 
Palatka  without  crossing  to  St.  Augustine.  He  went 
"straight  through,"  as  he  called  it;  when  he  was 
alone  he  always  went  straight  through.  He  was  no 
more  particular  as  to  where  he  slept  than  he  was  as 
to  what  he  ate.  Reaching  Raleigh  in  the  evening,  he 
went  in  search  of  his  brother-in-law.  He  had  not 
sent  word  that  he  was  coming.  "  I  won't  give  him 
time  to  trot  out  all  his  objections  beforehand,"  he  had 
said  to  himself.  He  intended  to  make  an  attempt  to 
arrange  the  matter  with  Jared  without  calling  in  the 
aid  of  Genevieve.  "  If  I  fail,  there'll  always  be  time 
to  bring  her  on  the  scene.  If  I  succeed,  it'll  take  her 
down  a  bit ;  and  that  won't  hurt  her !"  he  thought, 
with  an  inward  smile. 

Ruth's  "  horrid  Raleigh  "  looked  very  pretty  as  he 
walked  through  its  lighted  streets.  The  boarding- 
house  where  Jared  had  passed  the  winter  proved  to 
be  an  old  mansion,  which,  in  its  day,  had  possessed 
claims  to  dignity ;  it  was  large,  with  two  wings  run 
ning  backward,  and  the  main  building  had  a  high 
pointed  roof  with  dormer-windows.  The  front  was 


264 


even  with  the  street ;  but  the  street  itself  was  rural, 
with  its  two  long  lines  of  magnificent  trees,  which 
formed  the  divisions  (otherwise  rather  vague)  be 
tween  the  sidewalks  and  the  broad  expanse  of  the 
sandy  roadway.  Chase's  knock  was  answered  by  a 
little  negro  boy,  whose  head  did  not  reach  the  door 
knob.  "  Mas'  Franklin  ?  Yassah.  He's  done  gone 
out.  Be  in  soon,  I  reckon,"  he  added,  hopefully. 

Chase,  after  a  moment's  reflection,  decided  to  go 
in  and  wait. 

"  Show  you  in  de  parlo,'  or  right  up  in  his  own 
room,  boss  ? "  demanded  the  infant,  anxiously. 
"  Dere's  a  party  in  de  parlo'."  This  statement  was 
confirmed  by  the  sound  of  music  from  within. 

"  A  party,  is  there  ?  I  guess  I'll  go  up,  then,"  said 
Chase. 

The  child  started  up  the  stairs.  His  legs  were  so 
short  that  he  had  to  mount  to  each  step  with  both 
feet,  one  after  the  other,  before  he  could  climb  to  the 
next.  These  legs  and  feet  and  his  arms  were  bare  ; 
the  rest  of  his  small,  plump  person  was  clad  in  a  little 
jacket  and  very  short  breeches  of  pink  calico.  There 
were  two  long  flights  of  stairs,  and  a  shorter  flight  to 
the  attic ;  the  pink  breeches  had  the  air  of  climbing 
an  Alp.  Presently  Chase  took  up  the  little  toiler, 
candle  and  all. 

"  You  can  tell  me  which  way  to  go,"  he  said. 
"  What's  your  name  ?" 

"  Pliny  Abraham,  sah." 

"  Do  you  like  Mr.  Franklin  ?" 


265 


"  Mas'  Franklin  is  de  bes'  body  in  dishy er  house !" 
declared  Pliny  Abraham,  shrilly. 

"The  best  what?" 

"  De  bes'  body.  We'se  got  twenty -five  bodies 
now,  boss.  Sometimes  dere's  twenty-eight." 

"  Oh,  you  mean  boarders  ?" 

"  Yassah.     Bodies." 

Jared's  room  was  in  the  attic.  Pliny  Abraham, 
who  had  been  intensely  serious,  began  to  grin  as  his 
bearer,  after  putting  him  down,  placed  a  dime  in 
each  of  his  little  pink  pockets ;  then  he  dashed  out 
of  the  room,  his  black  legs  disappearing  so  suddenly 
that  Chase  had  the  curiosity  to  follow  to  the  top  of 
the  stairs  and  look  over.  Pliny  had  evidently  slid 
down  the  banisters;  for  he  was  already  embarked  on 
the  broader  rail  of  the  flight  below. 

Twenty  minutes  later  there  was  a  step  on  the  stair; 
the  door  opened,  and  Jarcd  Franklin  came  in. 

"They  didn't  tell  you  I  was  here?"  said  Chase,  as 
they  shook  hands. 

"  No.  Mrs.  Nightingale  is  usually  very  attentive ; 
too  much  so,  in  fact;  she's  a  bother!"  Jared  an 
swered.  "  To-night,  however,  there's  a  party  down 
below,  and  she  has  the  supper  on  her  mind." 

"  Is  Pliny  Abraham  to  serve  it  3" 

"  You've  seen  him,  have  you  3"  said  Jared,  who 
was  now  lighting  a  lamp.  "  Confounded  smell — pe 
troleum!"  And  he  threw  up  the  sash  of  the  win 
dow. 

"  I'm  on  my  way  up  to  New  York,  and  I  came 


266 


across  from  Goldsborough  on  purpose  to  see  you, 
Franklin,  on  a  matter  of  business,"  Chase  began. 
"  Ruth  isn't  with  me  this  time  ;  she  took  a  notion  to 
go  north  by  sea.  Your  mother  and  sister,  I  expect, 
will  be  seeing  her  off  to-morrow  from  Charleston ; 
then,  after  a  little  rest  for  Miss  Dolly,  they're  to  go 
to  LTIommedieu." 

"  They'll  stop  here,  won't  they  ?"  asked  Jared,  who 
was  standing  at  the  window  in  order  to  get  air  which 
was  untainted  by  the  odor  of  the  lamp. 

"  Perhaps,"  Chase  answered.  He  knew  that  Dolly 
and  her  mother  believed  that  by  the  time  they  should 
reach  Raleigh,  Jared  would  have  already  left.  "Well, 
the  gist  of  the  matter,  Franklin,  is  about  this,"  he 
went  on.  And  then,  tilting  his  chair  back  so  that 
his  long  legs  should  have  more  room,  and  with  his 
thumbs  in  the  pockets  of  his  waistcoat,  he  began  de 
liberately  to  lie. 

For  in  the  short  space  of  time  which  had  elapsed 
since  his  eyes  first  rested  upon  Ruth's  brother,  he 
had  entirely  altered  his  plan.  His  well-arranged  ar 
guments  and  explanations  about  the  place  in  New 
York  in  connection  with  his  California  scheme — all 
these  he  had  abandoned ;  something  must  be  invent 
ed  which  would  require  no  argument  at  all,  some 
thing  which  should  attract  Jared  so  strongly  that  he 
would  of  his  own  accord  accept  it  on  the  spot,  and 
start  northward  the  next  morning.  "Once  in  New 
York,  in  our  big  house  there,  with  Gen  (for  I  shall 
telegraph  her  to  come  on)  and  Ruth  and  the  best 


267 


doctors,  perhaps  the  poor  chap  can  be  persuaded  to 
give  up,  and  take  a  good  long  rest,"  he  thought. 

For  he  had  been  greatly  shocked  by  the  change  in 
Jared's  appearance.  When  he  had  last  seen  him, 
the  naval  officer  had  been  gaunt ;  but  now  he  was 
wasted.  His  eyes  had  always  been  sad  ;  but  now 
they  were  deeply  sunken,  with  dark  hollows  under 
them  and  over  them.  "  He  looks  bad,"  Chase  said  to 
himself,  emphatically.  "  This  sort  of  life's  been  too 
much  for  him,  and  Gen's  got  a  good  deal  to  answer 
for !"  The  only  ornament  of  the  whitewashed  wall 
was  a  large  photograph  of  the  wife  ;  her  handsome 
face,  with  its  regular  outlines  arid  calm  eyes,  presided 
serenely  over  the  attic  room  of  the  lonely  husband. 

To  have  to  contrive  something  new,  plausible,  and 
effective,  in  two  minutes'  time,  might  have  baffled 
most  men.  But  Horace  Chase  had  never  had  a 
mind  of  routine,  he  had  always  been  a  free  lance ; 
original  conceptions  and  the  boldest  daring,  accom 
panied  by  an  extraordinary  personal  sagacity,  had 
formed  his  especial  sort  of  genius — a  genius  which 
had  already  made  him,  at  thirty-nine,  a  millionaire 
many  times  over.  His  invention,  therefore,  when  he 
unrolled  it,  had  an  air  of  perfect  veracity.  It  had  to 
do  with  a  steamer,  which  (so  he  represented)  a  man 
whom  he  knew  had  bought,  in  connection  with  what 
might  be  called,  perhaps,  a  branch  of  his  own  Cali 
fornia  scheme,  although  a  branch  with  which  he 
himself  had  nothing  whatever  to  do.  This  man 
needed  an  experienced  officer  to  take  the  steamer 


268 


immediately  from  San  Francisco  to  the  Sandwich 
Islands,  and  thence  on  a  cruise  to  various  other  isl 
ands  in  the  South  Pacific.  "  The  payment,  to  a 
navy  man  like  you,  ought  to  be  pretty  good.  But  I 
can't  say  what  the  exact  figure  will  be,"  he  went  on, 
warily,  "  because  I'm  not  in  it  myself,  you  see.  He's 
a  good  deal  of  a  skinflint "  (here  he  coolly  borrowed 
a  name  for  the  occasion,  the  name  of  a  capitalist 
well  known  in  New  York) ;  "  but  he's  sound.  It's  a 
bona  fide  operation ;  I  can  at  least  vouch  for  that. 
The  steamer  is  first-class,  and  you  can  pick  out  your 
own  crew.  There'll  be  a  man  aboard  to  see  to  the 
trading  part  of  it ;  all  you've  got  to  do  is  to  sail  the 
ship."  And  in  his  driest  and  most  practical  voice 
he  went  on  enumerating  the  details. 

Jared  knew  that  his  brother-in-law  had  more  than 
once  been  engaged  in  outside  speculations  on  a  large 
scale;  his  acquaintance,  therefore,  with  kindred  spir 
its,  men  who  bought  ocean  steamers  and  sent  them 
on  cruises,  did  not  surprise  him.  The  plan  attracted 
him ;  he  turned  it  over  in  his  mind  to  see  if  there 
were  any  reasons  why  he  should  not  accept  it.  There 
seemed  to  be  none.  To  begin  with,  Horace  Chase 
had  nothing  to  do  with  it;  he  should  not  be  indebted 
to  him  for  anything  save  the  chance.  In  addition, 
it  would  not  be  an  easy  berth,  with  plenty  to  get  and 
little  to  do,  like  the  place  at  Charleston ;  on  the  con 
trary,  a  long  voyage  of  this  sort  would  call  out  all  he 
knew.  And  certainly  he  was  sick  of  his  present  life 
— deathly  sick ! 


269 


Chase  had  said  to  himself:  "  Fellows  who  go  down 
so  low — and  he's  at  the  end  of  his  rope ;  that's  plain 
— go  up  again  like  rockets  sometimes,  just  give  'em 
a  chance." 

Jared,  however,  showed  no  resemblance  to  a  rocket. 
He  agreed,  after  a  while,  to  "  undertake  the  job,"  as 
Chase  called  it,  and  he  agreed,  also,  to  start  the  next 
morning  with  his  brother-in-law  for  New  York,  where 
the  final  arrangements  were  to  be  made ;  but  his  as 
sent  was  given  mechanically,  and  his  voice  sounded 
weak,  as  though,  physically,  he  had  very  little  strength. 
Mentally  there  was  more  stir.  "  I  shall  be  deuced 
glad  to  be  on  salt-water  again,"  he  said.  "I  dare 
say  you  think  it's  a  very  limited  life,"  he  went  on 
(and  in  the  phrase  there  lurked  something  scornful). 

"  Well,"  answered  Chase,  with  his  slight  drawl, 
"  that  depends  upon  what  a  man  wants,  what  he  sets 
out  to  do."  He  put  his  hands  down  in  the  pockets 
of  his  trousers,  and  looked  at  the  lamp  reflectively; 
then  he  transferred  his  gaze  to  Jared.  "  I  guess 
you've  got  a  notion,  Franklin,  that  I  care  for  nothing 
but  money  ?  And  that's  where  you  make  a  mistake. 
For  'tain't  the  money  ;  it's  the  making  it.  Making 
it  (that  is,  in  large  sums)  is  the  best  sort  of  a  game. 
If  you  win,  there's  nothing  like  it.  It's  sport,  that 
is  !  It's  fan  !  To  get  down  to  the  bed-rock  of  the 
subject,  it's  the  power.  Yes,  sir,  that's  it — the  power ! 
The  knowing  you've  got  it,  and  that  other  men  know 
it  too,  and  feel  your  hand  on  the  reins  !  For  a  big 
pile  is  something  more  than  a  pile ;  it's  a  proof  that 


270 


a  man's  got  brains.  (I  mean,  of  course,  if  he  has 
made  it  himself;  I'm  not  talking  now  about  fortunes 
that  are  inherited,  or  are  simply  rolled  up  by  a  rise  in 
real  estate.)  As  to  the  money  taken  alone,  of  course 
it's  a  good  thing  to  have,  and  I'm  going  on  making 
more  as  long  as  I  can;  I  like  it,  and  I  know  how. 
But  about  the  disposing  of  it"  (here  he  took  his 
hands  out  of  his  pockets  and  folded  his  arms),  "  I 
don't  mind  telling  you  that  I've  got  other  ideas. 
My  family — if  I  have  a  family — will  be  provided  for. 
After  that,  I've  a  notion  that  I  may  set  aside  a  cer 
tain  sum  for  scientific  research  (I  understand  that's 
the  term).  I  don't  know  much  about  science  my 
self  ;  but  I've  always  felt  a  sort  of  general  interest  in 
it,  somehow." 

"  Oh,  you  intend  to  be  a  benefactor,  do  you?"  said 
Jared,  ironically.  "  I  hope,  at  least,  that  your  endow 
ment  won't  be  open  to  everybody.  It's  only  fair  to 
tell  you  that,  in  my  opinion,  one  of  the  worst  evils  of 
our  country  to  -  day  is  this  universal  education — 
education  of  all  classes  indiscriminately." 

Chase  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  in  silence. 
Then,  with  a  quiet  dignity  which  was  new  to  the 
other  man,  he  answered,  "  I  don't  think  I  understand 
you." 

"  Oh  yes,  you  do,"  responded  Jared,  with  a  little 
laugh.  But  he  felt  somewhat  ashamed  of  his  speech, 
and  he  bore  it  off  by  saying,  "  Are  you  going  to 
found  a  new  institution  ?  Or  leave  it  in  a  lump  to 
Harvard  ?" 


271 


"  I  haven't  got  as  far  as  that  yet.  I  thought  per 
haps  Ruth  might  like  to  choose,"  Chase  answered, 
his  voice  softening  a  little  as  he  pronounced  his 
wife's  name. 

"  Ruth  ?  Much  she  knows  about  it !"  said  the 
brother,  amused.  In  his  heart  he  was  thinking, 
"  Well,  at  any  rate,  he  isn't  one  of  the  blowers,  and 
that's  a  consolation  !  He  is  going  to  l  plank  down ' 
handsomely  for  l  scientific  research.'  (I  wonder  if 
he  thinks  they'll  research  another  baking-powder !) 
But  he  isn't  going  to  shout  about  it.  The  fact  is 
that  this  is  the  first  time  I  have  ever  heard  him 
speak  of  himself,  and  his  own  ideas.  What  he  said 
just  now  about  making  money,  that's  his  credo, 
evidently.  Pretty  dry  one  !  But,  for  such  a  fellow 
as  he  is,  natural  enough,  I  suppose." 

Chase's  credo,  if  such  it  was,  was  ended ;  he  showed 
no  disposition  to  speak  further  of  himself ;  on  the 
contrary,  he  turned  the  conversation  towards  his 
companion.  For  as  the  minutes  had  passed,  more 
and  more  Jared  seemed  to  him  ill  —  profoundly 
changed.  "  I'm  afraid,  Franklin,  that  your  health  isn't 
altogether  first-class  nowadays  ?"  he  said,  tentatively. 

"  Oh,  I'm  well  enough,  except  that  just  now  there's 
some  sort  of  an  intermittent  fever  hanging  about  me. 
But  it's  very  slight,  and  it  only  appears  occasionally  ; 
I  dare  say  it  will  leave  me  as  soon  as  I'm  fairly  out 
of  this  hole  of  a  place,"  Jared  answered,  in  a  dull 
tone. 

"  He  must  be  mighty  glad  to  get  away,  and  yet  he 


272 


doesn't  rally  worth  a  cent,"  thought  Chase,  with  in 
ward  concern.  "  I  say,"  lie  went  on,  aloud,  "  as 
there's  a  party  in  the  house,  why  not  come  along 
down  to  the  hotel  and  sleep  there  ?  I'm  going  to 
have  some  sort  of  a  lunch  when  I  go  back ;  you 
might  keep  me  company  ?" 

Jared,  however,  made  a  gesture  of  repugnance.  "  I 
couldn't  eat;  I've  no  appetite.  The  party  doesn't 
trouble  me — I'll  go  to  bed.  There'll  be  plenty  to 
do  in  the  morning,  if  we  are  to  catch  that  nine 
o'clock  train." 

Chase  therefore  took  leave,  and  Jared  accompa 
nied  him  down  to  the  street  door.  Dancing  was  go 
ing  on  in  the  parlors  on  each  side  of  the  hall,  and 
the  two,  as  they  passed,  caught  a  glimpse  of  pretty 
girls  in  white,  with  flowers  in  their  hair.  After 
making  an  early  appointment  for  the  next  day,  Chase 
said  good-night,  and  turned  down  the  tree -shaded 
street  towards  his  hotel. 

His  step  was  never  a  hurried  one ;  he  had  not, 
therefore,  gone  far  when  a  person,  who  had  left  the 
house  two  minutes  after  his  own  departure,  succeed 
ed  in  overtaking  him.  "If  you  please  —  will  you 
stop  a  moment  ?"  said  this  person.  She  was  pant 
ing,  for  she  had  been  running. 

Chase  turned ;  by  the  light  from  a  street-lamp, 
which  reached  them  flickeringly  through  the  foliage, 
he  saw  a  woman.  Her  face  was  in  the  shadow,  but 
a  large  flower,  poised  stiffly  on  the  top  of  her  head, 
caught  the  light  and  gleamed  whitely. 


273 


"  I  am  Mrs.  Nightingale,"  she  began.  "  Mr.  Frank 
lin,  the  gentleman  you  called  awn  this  evenin',  is  a 
member  of  my  family.  And  I've  been  right  anxious 
about  Mr.  Franklin  ;  I'm  thankful  somebody  has 
come  who  knows  him.  For  indeed,  sir,  he's  more 
sick  than  he  likes  to  acknowledge.  I've  been  watch- 
in'  for  you  to  come  down  ;  but  when  I  saw  he  was 
with  you,  I  had  to  wait  until  he'd  gone  up  again ; 
then  I  slipped  out  and  ran  after  you." 

"  I've  been  noticing  that  he  looked  bad,  ma'am," 
Chase  answered. 

"  Oh,  sir,  somebody  ought  to  be  with  him  ;  he  has 
fever  at  night,  and  when  it  comes  awn,  he's  out  of  his 
head.  I've  sat  up  myself  three  nights  lately  to  keep 
watch.  He  locks  his  do' ;  but  there's  an  empty  room 
next  to  his  where  I  stay,  so  that  if  he  comes  out  I 
can  see  that  he  gets  no  harm." 

"  He  walks  about,  then  ?" 

"  In  his  own  room  —  yes,  sir ;  an'  he  talks,  an' 
raves." 

"  Couldn't  you  have  managed  to  have  him  see  a 
doctor,  ma'am?" 

"  I've  done  my  best,  but  he  won't  hear  of  it.  You 
see,  it  only  comes  awn  every  third  night  or  so,  an'  he 
has  no  idea  himself  how  bad  it  is.  In  the  mawnin' 
it's  gone,  an'  then  all  he  says  is  that  the  breakfast  is 
bad.  He  goes  to  his  business  every  day  regular, 
though  he  looks  so  po'ly.  And  he  doesn't  eat 
enough  to  keep  a  fly  alive." 

Chase  reflected.     "  I'll  have  a  doctor  go  with  us  on 

18 


the  sly  to-morrow,"  he  thought,  "  and  I'll  engage  a 
whole  sleeper  at  Weldon  to  go  through  to  New  York. 
I'll  wire  to  Gen  to  start  at  once ;  she  needn't  be 
more  than  a  day  behind  us  if  she  hurries."  Then 
he  went  on,  aloud  :  "  Do  you  think  he  is  likely  to  be 
feverish  to-night,  ma'am  ?" 

"  I  hope  not,  sir,  as  last  night  was  bad." 

"  I  guess  it  will  be  better,  then,  not  to  wake  him 
up  and  force  a  doctor  upon  him  now,  as  he  told  me 
he  was  going  to  bed.  I  intend  to  take  him  north 
with  me  to-morrow  morning,  ma'am,  and  in  the  mean 
time — that  little  room  you  spoke  of  next  to  his — Til 
occupy  it  to-night,  if  you'll  let  me  ?  I'll  just  go  down 
to  the  hotel  and  get  my  bag,  and  be  back  soon.  I'm 
his  brother-in-law,"  Chase  continued,  shaking  hands 
with  her,  "  and  we're  all  much  obliged,  ma'am,  for 
what  you've  done  ;  it  was  mighty  kind — the  keeping 
watch  at  night." 

He  went  to  his  hotel,  made  a  hasty  supper,  and 
returned,  bag  in  hand,  before  the  half-hour  was  out. 
Mrs.  Nightingale  ushered  him  down  one  of  the  long 
wings  to  her  own  apartment  at  the  end,  a  comfort- 
less,  crowded  little  chamber,  full  of  relics  of  the  war 
— her  husband's  sword  and  uniform  (he  was  shot  at 
Gettysburg)  ;  his  portrait ;  the  portrait  of  her  brother, 
also  among  the  slain ;  photographs  of  their  graves ; 
funeral  wreaths  and  flags. 

"  Excuse  my  bringin'  you  here,  sir ;  it's  the  only 
place  I  have.  Mr.  Franklin  hasn't  gone  to  bed  yet ; 
I  slipped  up  a  moment  ago  to  see,  and  there  was  a 


275 


lio-ht  under  bis  do'.     I'm  afraid  it  would  attract  his 

O 

attention  if  you  should  go  up  now,  sir,  for  he  knows 
that  the  next  room  is  unoccupied." 

"  You've  occupied  it,  ma'am.  But  I  guess  you 
know  how  to  step  pretty  soft,"  Chase  answered,  gal 
lantly.  For  now  that  he  saw  this  good  Samaritan  in 
a  brighter  light,  he  appreciated  the  depth  of  her  char 
ity.  The  mistress  of  the  boarding-house  was  the 
personification  of  chronic  fatigue  ;  her  dim  eyes,  her 
worn  face,  her  stooping  figure,  and  the  enlarged 
knuckles  and  bones  of  her  hands,  all  told  of  hard  toil 
and  care.  Her  thin  hair  was  re-enforced  behind  by 
huge  palpably  false  braids-  of  another  shade,  and  the 
preposterous  edifice,  carried  over  the  top  of  the  head, 
was  adorned,  in  honor  of  the  party,  by  the  large 
white  camellia,  placed  exactly  in  the  centre — "  like  a 
locomotive  head-light,"  Chase  thought — which  had  at 
tracted  his  notice  in  the  street.  But  in  spite  of  her 
grotesque  coiffure,  no  one  with  a  heart  could  laugh  at 
her.  The  goodness  in  her  faded  face  was  so  genuine 
and  beautiful  that  inwardly  he  saluted  it.  "  She's 
the  kind  that  '11  never  be  rested  this  side  the  grave," 
he  said  to  himself. 

Left  alone  in  her  poor  little  temple  of  memories,  he 
went  to  the  window  and  looked  out.  It  was  midnight, 
and  the  waning  moon  —  the  same  moon  which  had 
been  full  when  Ruth  made  her  happy  pilgrimage  at  St. 
Augustine  —  was  now  rising  in  its  diminished  form; 
diminished  though  it  was,  it  gave  out  light  enough  to 
show  the  Northerner  that  the  old  house  had  at  the 


276 


back,  across  both  stories,  covered  verandas  —  "  gal 
leries,"  Mrs.  Nightingale  called  them.  Above,  the 
pointed  roof  of  the  main  building  towered  up  dark 
against  the  star-decked  sky,  and  from  one  of  its  dor 
mer-windows  came  a  broad  gleam  of  light.  "That's 
Jared's  room,"  thought  Chase.  "  He  is  writing  to 
Gen,  telling  her  all  about  it ;  sick  as  he  is,  he  sat  up 
to  do  it.  Meanwhile  she  was  comfortably  asleep  at 
ten." 

At  last,  when  Jared  had  finally  gone  to  bed,  Mrs. 
Nightingale  (who  made  no  more  sound  than  a  mouse) 
led  the  way  up  to  the  attic.  Chase  followed  her, 
shoeless,  treading  as  cautiously  as  he  could,  and  es 
tablished  himself  in  the  empty  room  with  his  door 
open,  and  a  lighted  candle  in  the  hall  outside.  By 
two  o'clock  the  party  down-stairs  was  over;  the  house 
sank  into  silence. 

There  had  been  no  sound  from  Jared.  "  He's  all 
right ;  I  shall  get  him  safely  off  to-morrow,"  thought 
the  watcher,  with  satisfaction.  "  At  New  York,  if  he's 
well  enough  to  talk,  I  shall  have  to  invent  another 
yarn  about  that  steamer  •  But  probably  the  doctors 
will  tell  him  on  the  spot  that  he  isn't  able  to  under 
take  it.  So  that  '11"  be  the  end  of  that." 

His  motionless  position  ended  by  cramping  him  ; 
the  chair  was  hard ;  each  muscle  of  both  legs  seemed 
to  have  a  separate  twitch.  "  I  might  as  well  lie 
down  on  the  bed,"  he  thought ;  "  there,  at  least,  I 
can  stretch  out." 

He  was  awakened  by  a  sound  ;  startled,  he  sat  up, 


277 


listening.  Jared,  in  the  next  room,  was  talking.  The 
words  could  not  be  distinguished ;  the  tone  of  the 
voice  was  strange.  Then  the  floor  vibrated  ;  Jared 
had  risen,  and  was  walking  about.  His  voice  grew 
louder.  Chase  noiselessly  went  into  the  hall,  and 
stood  listening  at  the  door.  There  was  no  light 
within,  and  he  ventured  to  turn  the  handle.  But  the 
bolt  was  fast.  A  white  figure  now  stole  up  the  stairs 
and  joined  him;  it  was  Mrs.  Nightingale,  wrapped  in 
a  shawl.  "  Oh,  I  heard  him  'way  from  my  room  ! 
He  has  never  been  so  bad  as  this  before,"  she  whis 
pered. 

Chase  had  always  been  aware  that  the  naval  officer 
disliked  him ;  that  is,  that  he  had  greatly  disliked 
the  idea  of  his  sister's  marriage.  "  If  he  sees  me 
now,  when  he  is  out  of  his  head,  will  it  make  him 
more  violent  ?  Would  it  be  better  to  have  a  stranger 
go  in  first? — the  doctor?" — these  were  the  questions 
that  occupied  his  mind  while  Mrs.  Nightingale  was 
whispering  her  frightened  remark. 

From  the  room  now  came  a  wild  cry.  That  de 
cided  him.  "I  am  going  to  burst  in  the  lock,"  he 
said  to  his  companion,  hurriedly.  "Call  up  some 
one  to  help  me  hold  him,  if  necessary."  His  mus 
cular  frame  was  strong ;  setting  his  shoulder  against 
the  door,  after  two  or  three  efforts  he  broke  it  open. 

But  the  light  from  the  candle  outside  showed  that 
the  room  was  empty,  and,  turning,  he  ran  at  full 
speed  down  the  three  flights  of  stairs,  passing  white- 
robed,  frightened  groups  (for  the  whole  house  was 


278 

now  astir),  and,  unlocking  the  back  door,  lie  dashed 
into  the  court-yard  behind,  his  face  full  of  dread. 
But  there  was  no  lifeless  heap  on  the  ground.  Then, 
hastily,  he  looked  up. 

Dawn  was  well  advanced,  though  the  sun  had  not 
yet  risen  ;  the  clear,  pure  light  showed  that  nothing 
was  lying  on  the  roof  of  the  upper  gallery,  as  he  had 
feared  would  be  the  case.  At  the  same  instant,  his 
eyes  caught  sight  of  a  moving  object  above ;  coming 
up  the  steep  slope  of  the  roof  from  the  front  side, 
at  first  only  the  head  visible,  then  the  shoulders, 
and  finally  the  whole  body,  outlined  against  the  vio 
let  sky,  appeared  Jared  Franklin.  He  was  partly 
dressed,  and  he  was  talking  to  himself ;  when  he 
reached  the  apex  of  the  roof  he  paused,  brandishing 
his  arms  with  a  wild  gesture,  and  swaying  unsteadily. 

Several  persons  were  now  in  the  court-yard ;  men 
had  hurried  out.  Two  woman  joined  them,  and 
looked  up.  But  when  they  saw  the  swaying  figure 
above,  they  ran  back  to  the  shelter  of  the  hall,  veil 
ing  their  eyes  and  shuddering.  In  a  few  moments 
all  the  women  in  the  house  had  gathered  in  this 
lower  hall,  frightened  and  tearful. 

Chase,  meanwhile,  outside,  was  pulling  off  his 
socks.  "  Get  ladders,"  he  said,  quickly,  to  the  other 
men.  "  I'm  going  up.  I'll  try  to  hold  him." 

"  Oh,  how  can  you  get  there  2"  asked  Mrs.  Night 
ingale,  sobbing. 

"  The  same  way  he  did,"  Chase  answered,  as  he 
ran  up  the  stairs. 


279 


The  men  remonstrated.  Two  of  them  hurried 
after  him.  But  he  was  ahead,  and,  mounting  to  the 
sill  of  Jared's  window,  he  stepped  outside.  Then, 
not  allowing  himself  to  look  at  anything  but  the 
apex  directly  above  him,  he  walked  slowly  and  even 
ly  towards  it  up  the  steep  incline,  his  head  and 
shoulders  bent  forward,  his  bare  feet  clinging  to  the 
moss-grown  shingles,  while  at  intervals  he  touched 
with  the  tips  of  his  fingers  the  shingles  that  faced 
him,  as  a  means  of  steadying  himself. 

Down  in  the  court-yard  no  word  was  now  spoken. 
But  the  gazers  drew  their  breath  audibly.  Jared 
appeared  to  be  unaware  of  any  one  below ;  his  eyes, 
though  wide  open,  did  not  see  the  man  who  was  ap 
proaching.  Chase  perceived  this,  as  soon  as  he  him 
self  had  reached  the  top,  and  he  instantly  took  ad 
vantage  of  it ;  he  moved  straight  towards  Jared  on 
his  hands  and  knees  along  the  line  of  the  ridge-pole. 
When  he  had  come  within  reach,  he  let  himself  slip 
down  a  few  inches  to  a  chimney  that  was  near ;  then, 
putting  his  left  arm  round  this  chimney  as  a  sup 
port,  he  stretched  the  right  upward,  and  with  a  sud 
den  grasp  seized  the  other  man,  throwing  him  down 
and  pinning  him  with  one  and  the  same  motion. 
Jared  fell  on  his  back,  half  across  the  ridge,  with  his 
head  hanging  over  one  slope  and  his  legs  and  feet 
over  the  other ;  it  was  this  position  which  enabled 
Chase  to  hold  him  down.  The  madman  (his  frenzy 
came  from  a  violent  form  of  inflammation  of  the 
brain)  struggled  desperately.  His  strength  seemed 


280 


so  prodigious  that  to  the  watchers  below  it  appeared 
impossible  that  the  rescuer  could  save  him,  or  even 
save  himself.  The  steep  roof  had  no  parapet ;  and 
the  cruel  pavement  below  was  stone  ;  the  two  bodies, 
grappled  in  a  death-clutch,  must  go  down  together. 

"  Oh,  pray!  Pray  to  God !"  called  a  woman's 
voice  from  the  court  below 

She  spoke  to  Chase.  But  at  that  moment  nothing 
in  him  could  be  spared  from  his  own  immense  effort ; 
not  only  all  the  powers  of  his  body,  but  of  his  heart 
and  mind  and  soul  as  well,  were  concentrated  upon 
the  one  thing  he  had  to  do.  He  accomplished  it ; 
feeling  his  arm  growing  weak,  he  made  a  tremen 
dous  and  final  attempt  to  jam  down  still  harder  the 
breast  he  grasped,  and  the  blow  (for  it  amounted  to 
a  blow)  reduced  Jared  to  unconsciousness ;  his  hands 
fell  back,  his  ravings  ceased.  His  strength  had  been 
merely  the  fictitious  force  of  fever  ;  in  reality  he  was 
weak. 

The  ladders  came.     Both  men  were  saved. 

"  Come,  now,  if  the  roof  had  been  only  three 
inches  above  the  ground — how  then?"  Chase  said, 
impatiently,  as,  after  the  visit  of  a  doctor  and  the 
arrival  of  two  nurses,  he  came  down  for  a  hasty 
breakfast  in  Mrs.  Nightingale's  dining-room,  where 
the  boarders  began  to  shake  hands  with  him,  en 
thusiastically.  "  The  thing  itself  was  simple  enough  ; 
all  that  was  necessary  was  to  act  as  though  it  was 
only  three  inches." 


CHAPTER   XV 

A  WEEK  later,  early  in  the  evening,  a  four -horse 
stage  was  coming  slowly  down  the  last  mile  or  two 
of  road  above  the  little  North  Carolina  village  of 
Old  Fort  at  the  eastern  base  of  the  Blue  Ridge.  It 
was  a  creaking,  crazy  vehicle,  thickly  encrusted  with 
red  clay.  But  as  it  had  pounded  all  the  way  from 
Asheville  by  the  abominable  mountain-road,  no  doubt 
it  had  cause  to  be  vociferous  and  tarnished.  Above, 
the  stars  were  shining  brightly ;  and  the  forest  also 
appeared  to  be  starlit,  owing  to  the  myriads  of 
fire-flies  that  gleamed  like  sparks  against  the  dark 
trees. 

A  man  who  was  coming  up  the  road  hailed  the 
stage  as  it  approached.  "  Hello !  Is  Mr.  Hill  in 
side  ?  The  Rev.  Mr.  Hill  of  Asheville  ?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  a  voice  from  the  back  seat  of 
the  vehicle,  and  a  head  appeared  at  the  window. 
"  What— Mr.  Chase  ?  Is  that  you  ?"  And,  opening 
the  door,  Malachi  Hill,  with  his  bag  in  his  hand, 
jumped  out. 

"  I  came  up  the  road,  thinking  I  might  meet  you," 
Horace  Chase  explained.  "  Let's  walk ;  there's 
something  I  want  to  talk  over."  They  went  on  to 
gether,  leaving  the  stage  behind.  "  Pve  got  a  new 


282 


idea,"  Chase  began.  "  What  do  you  say  to  going 
up  to  New  York  to  get  my  wife  ?  I  had  intended  to 
go  for  her  myself,  as  you  know,  starting  from  here 
to-night,  as  soon  as  I  had  put  the  other  ladies  in 
your  charge,  to  take  back  to  Asheville.  But  Mrs. 
Franklin  looks  pretty  bad;  and  Dolly — she  might 
have  one  of  her  attacks.  And,  take  it  altogether, 
I've  begun  to  feel  that  it's  my  business  to  go  with 
'em  all  the  way.  For  it's  a  long  drive  over  the 
mountains  at  best,  and  though  the  night's  fine  so 
far,  there's  no  moon,  and  the  road  is  always  awful. 
I  have  four  men  from  Raleigh  along — the  undertaker 
(who  is  a  damn  fool,  always  talking),  and  his  assist 
ants  j  and  so  there'll  be  four  teams — a  wagon,  the 
two  carriages,  and  the  hearse.  I  guess  I  know  the 
most  about  horses,  and  if  you  can  fix  it  so  as  to  take 
my  place,  I'll  see  'em  through." 

"  Certainly.  I  am  anxious  to  help  in  any  way 
you  think  best,"  answered  Malachi.  "  I  wish  I 
could  start  at  once !  But  the  stage  is  so  late  to 
night  that,  of  course,  the  train  has  gone  ?" 

"  That's  just  it — I  kept  it,"  Chase  answered ;  "  I 
knew  one  of  us  would  want  to  take  it.  You'll  have 
to  wait  over  at  Salisbury  in  the  usual  stupid  way. 
But  as  Ruth  can't  be  here  in  time  for  the  funeral, 
it's  not  of  vital  importance.  The  only  thing  that 
riles  me  is  that,  owing  to  that  confounded  useless 
wait,  you  can't  be  on  the  dock  to  meet  her  when 
her  steamer  comes  in  at  New  York ;  you  won't  be 
able  to  get  there  in  time.  There'll  be  people,  of 


283 


course — I've  telegraphed.  But  no  one  she  knows 
as  well  as  she  knows  you." 

Reaching  the  village,  they  walked  quickly  towards 
the  railroad  and  finished  their  talk  as  they  stood  be 
side  the  waiting  train.  There  was  no  station,  the 
rails  simply  came  to  an  end  in  the  main  street.  A 
small  frame  structure,  which  bore  the  inscription 
"  Blue  Ridge  Hotel,"  faced  the  end  of  the  rails. 

"  He's  in  there,"  said  Chase,  in  a  low  tone,  in 
dicating  a  lighted  window  of  this  house  ;  "  that  room 
on  the  ground-floor.  And  the  old  lady — she  is  sit 
ting  there  beside  him.  She  is  quiet,  she  doesn't  say 
anything.  But  she  just  sits  there." 

"  Mrs.  Jared  and  Miss  Dolly  are  with  her,  aren't 
they  ?"  said  the  young  clergyman. 

"  Well,  Dolly  is  keeping  Gen  in  the  other  room 
across  the  hall  as  much  as  she  can.  For  Dolly  tells 
me  that  her  mother  likes  best  to  sit  there  alone. 
Women,  you  know,  about  their  sons — sometimes 
they're  queer !"  remarked  Chase. 

"  The  mother's  love — yes,"  Malachi  answered,  his 
voice  uncertain  for  a  moment.  He  swallowed. 
"  There  isn't  a  man  who  doesn't  feel,  sooner  or  later, 
after  it  has  gone,  that  he  hasn't  prized  it  half  enough 
— that  it  was  the  best  thing  he  had !  It  was  brain- 
fever,  wasn't  it?"  he  went  on,  hurriedly,  to  cover  his 
emotion.  For  he,  too,  had  been  an  only  son. 

"  Yes,  and  bad.  He  was  raving ;  he  knocked 
down  one  of  the  doctors.  After  the  fever  left  him, 
it  was  just  possible,  they  told  me,  that  he  might 


284 


have  pulled  through,  if  he  had  only  been  stronger. 
But  he  was  played  out  to  begin  with  ;  I  discovered 
that  myself  as  soon  as  I  reached  Raleigh.  Gen  got 
there  in  time  to  see  him.  But  the  old  lady  was  too 
late ;  and  pretty  hard  lines  for  her !  She  kept  tele 
graphing  from  different  stations  as  she  and  Dolly 
hurried  up  from  Charleston;  and  I  did  iny  best  to 
hearten  her  by  messages  that  met  her  here  and 
there ;  but  she  missed  it.  By  only  half  an  hour. 
When  I  saw  that  it  had  come — that  he  was  sinking 
and  she  wouldn't  find  him  alive — I  went  out  and  just 
cursed,  cursed  the  luck  !  For  Gen  had  his  last  words, 
and  everything.  And  his  poor  old  mother  had 
nothing  at  all." 

Here  the  conductor  came  up. 

"  Ready  ?"  said  Chase.  "  All  right,  here's  your 
through  ticket,  Hill  —  the  one  I  bought  for  myself. 
And  inside  the  envelope  is  a  memorandum,  with  the 
number  and  street  of  our  house  in  New  York,  and 
other  items.  I'm  no  end  obliged  to  you  for  going." 
They  shook  hands  cordially.  "When  you  come 
back,  don't  let  my  wife  travel  straight  through," 
added  the  husband.  "Make  her  stop  over  and 
sleep." 

"  I'll  do  my  best,"  answered  Hill,  as  the  train 
started.  In  deference  to  the  mourning  party  which 
it  had  brought  westward,  there  was  no  whistle,  no 
ringing  of  the  bell ;  the  locomotive  moved  quietly 
away,  and  the  clergyman,  standing  on  the  rear  plat 
form,  holding  on  by  the  handle  of  the  door,  watched 


285 


as  long  as  he  could  see  it  the  lighted  window  of  the 
room  where  lay  all  that  was  mortal  of  Jared  Frank 
lin. 

An  hour  later  the  funeral  procession  started  up  the 
mountain.  First,  there  was  a  wagon,  with  the  under 
taker  and  his  three  assistants.  Then  followed  the 
large,  heavy  hearse  drawn  by  four  horses.  Next  came 
a  carriage  containing  Mrs.  Franklin  and  Dolly  ;  and, 
finally,  a  second  carriage  for  Genevieve  and  Horace 
Chase. 

"  Poor  mamma  is  sadly  changed,"  commented 
Genevieve  to  her  companion.  "  She  insisted  upon 
being  left  alone  with  the  remains  at  the  hotel,  you 
know ;  and  now  she  wishes  her  carriage  to  be  as  near 
the  hearse  as  possible.  Fortunately,  these  things  are 
very  unimportant  to  me,  Horace.  I  do  not  feel,  as 
they  do,  that  Jay  is  here.  My  husband  has  gone — 
gone  to  a  better  world.  He  knew  that  he  was  going ; 
he  said  good-bye  to  me  so  tenderly.  He  was  always 
so  —  50  kind."  And  covering  her  face,  Genevieve 
gave  way  to  tears. 

"Yes,  he  thought  the  world  and  all  of  you,  Gen. 
There's  no  doubt  about  that,"  Chase  answered. 

He  did  full  justice  to  the  sobbing  woman  by  his 
side.  He  was  more  just  to  her  than  her  husband's 
family  had  ever  been,  or  ever  could  be ;  he  had 
known  her  as  a  child,  and  he  comprehended  that  ac 
cording  to  her  nature  and  according  to  her  unyield 
ing  beliefs  as  to  what  was  best,  she  had  tried  to  be  a 
good  wife.  In  addition  (as  he  was  a  man  himself), 


286 


he  thought  that  it  was  to  her  credit  that  her  husband 
had  always  been  fond  of  her,  that  he  had  remained 
devoted  to  her  to  the  last.  "  That  doesn't  go  for 
nothing  !"  he  said  to  himself. 

The  ascent  began.  The  carriages  plunged  into 
holes  and  lurched  out  of  them ;  they  jolted  across 
bits  of  corduroy ;  now  and  then,  when  the  track  fol 
lowed  a  gorge,  they  forded  a  brook.  The  curves 
were  slippery,  owing  to  the  red  clay.  Then,  without 
warning,  in  the  midst  of  mud  would  come  an  unex 
pected  sharp  grind  of  the  wheels  over  an  exposed 
ledge  of  bare  rock.  Before  midnight  clouds  had  ob 
scured  the  stars  and  it  grew  very  dark.  But  the 
lamps  on  the  carriages  burned  brightly,  and  a  negro 
was  sent  on  in  advance  carrying  a  pitch-pine  torch. 

In  the  middle  of  the  night,  at  the  top  of  the  pass, 
there  was  a  halt.  Chase  had  made  Genevieve  com 
fortable  with  cushions  and  shawls,  and  soon  after 
their  second  start  she  fell  asleep.  Perceiving  this, 
he  drew  up  the  window  on  her  side,  and  then,  open 
ing  the  carriage  -  door  softly,  he  got  out ;  it  was 
easy  to  do  it,  as  all  the  horses  were  walking.  Mak 
ing  a  detour  through  the  underbrush,  so  that  he 
should  not  be  seen  by  Mrs.  Franklin  and  Dolly  in 
case  they  were  awake,  he  appeared  by  the  side  of 
the  hearse. 

u  Don't  stop,"  he  said  to  the  driver,  in  a  low  tone ; 
"  I'm  going  to  get  up  there  beside  you."  He  climbed 
up  and  took  the  reins.  "I'll  drive  the  rest  of  the 
way,  or  at  least  as  far  as  the  outskirts  of  the  town. 


287 


For  between  here  and  there  are  all  the  worst  places. 
You  go  on  and  join  that  fellow  in  front.  You 
might  carry  a  second  torch ;  you'll  find  some  in  the 
wagon." 

The  driver  of  the  hearse,  an  Asheville  negro,  who 
knew  Chase,  gave  up  his  seat  gladly.  There  were 
bad  holes  ahead,  and  there  was  a  newly  mended 
place  which  was  a  little  uncertain  ;  he  would  not  have 
minded  taking  the  stage  over  that  place  (none  of  the 
Blue  Ridge  drivers  minded  taking  the  stage  any 
where),  but  he  was  superstitious  about  a  hearse. 
"  Fo'  de  Lawd,  I'm  glad  to  be  red  of  it !"  he  con 
fided  to  the  other  negro,  as  they  went  on  together  in 
advance  with  their  flaring  torches.  "  It  slips  an' 
slews  when  dey  ain't  no  'casion  !  Sump'n  mighty 
quare  'bout  it,  I  tell  you  dat  /" 

Presently  the  plateau  came  to  an  end,  and  the 
descent  began.  Rain  was  now  falling.  The  four 
vehicles  moved  slowly  on,  winding  down  the  zigzags 
very  cautiously  in  the  darkness,  slipping  and  sway 
ing  as  they  went. 

After  half  an  hour  of  this  progress,  the  torch-bear 
ers  in  front  came  hurrying  back  to  give  warning  that 
the  rain  had  loosened  the  temporary  repairs  of  the 
mended  place,  so  that  its  edge  had  given  away ;  for 
about  one  hundred  and  forty  yards,  therefore,  the 
track  was  dangerously  narrow  and  undefended,  with 
the  sheer  precipice  on  one  side  and  the  high  cliff  on 
the  other ;  in  addition,  the  roadway  slanted  towards 
this  verge,  and  the  clay  was  very  slippery. 


288 


Chase  immediately  sent  word  back  to  the  drivers 
of  the  carriages  behind  to  advance  as  slowly  as  was 
possible,  but  not  to  stop,  for  that  might  waken  the 
ladies ;  then,,  jumping  down  from  the  hearse,  and 
leaving  one  of  the  negroes  in  charge  of  his  team,  he 
hurried  forward  to  make  a  personal  inspection.  The 
broken  shelf,  without  its  parapet,  certainly  looked 
precarious  ;  so  much  so  that  the  driver  of  the  wagon, 
when  he  came  up,  hesitated.  Chase,  ordering  him 
down,  took  his  place,  and  drove  the  wagon  across 
himself.  Whereupon  the  verbose  undertaker  began 
to  thank  him. 

"  Don't  worry ;  I  didn't  do  it  for  yow,"  answered 
Chase,  grimly.  "  If  you'd  gone  over,,  you'd  have  car 
ried  away  more  of  the  track ;  that  was  all."  Going 
back,  he  resumed  his  place  on  the  hearse.  Then 
speaking  to  his  horses,  he  guided  them  on  to  the 
shelf.  Here  he  stood,  in  order  to  see  more  clearly,  the 
men  on  the  far  side  watching  him  breathlessly,  and 
trying  meanwhile  (at  a  safe  distance)  to  aid  him  as 
much  as  they  could,  by  holding  their  torches  high. 
The  ponderous  hearse  began  to  slip  by  its  own-  weight 
towards  the  verge.  Then,  with  strong  hand,  Chase 
sent  his  team  sharply  towards  the  cliff  that  towered 
above  them,  and  kept  them  grinding  against  it  as 
they  advanced,  the  two  on  the  inside  fairly  rubbing 
the  rock,  until,  by  main  strength,  the  four  together 
had  dragged  their  load  away.  But  in  a  minute  or 
two  it  began  over  again.  It  happened  not  once 
merely,  but  four  times.  And,  the  last  time,  the  hind 


289 


wheels  slipped  so  far,  in  spite  of  Chase's  efforts,  that 
it  seemed  as  if  they  would  inevitably  go  over,  and 
drag  the  struggling  horses  with  them.  But  Chase 
was  as  bold  a  driver  as  he  was  speculator.  How  he 
inspired  them,  the  horror-stricken  watchers  could  not 
discover  ;  but  the  four  bays,  bounding  sharply  round 
together,  sprang  in  a  heap,  as  it  were,  at  the  rocky 
wall  on  the  left,  the  leaders  rearing,  the  others  on  top 
of  them ;  and  by  this  wild  leap,  the  wheels  (one  of 
them  was  already  over)  were  violently  jerked  away. 
It  was  done  at  last ;  the  dark,  ponderous  car  stood  in 
safety  on  the  other  side,  and  the  spectators,  breath 
ing  again,  rubbed  down  the  wet  horses.  Then  Hor 
ace  Chase  went  back  on  foot,  and,  in  turn,  drove  the 
two  carriages  across.  Through  these  last  two  tran 
sits  not  a  word  was  spoken  by  any  one ;  he  mounted 
soundlessly,  so  that  Genevieve  slept  on  undisturbed, 
and  Mrs.  Franklin  and  Dolly,  unaware  of  the  danger 
or  of  the  new  hand  on  the  reins,  continued  to  gaze 
vaguely  at  the  darkness  outside,  their  thoughts  pur 
suing  their  own  course.  Finally,  leaving  one  of  the 
negroes  on  guard  to  warn  other  travellers  of  the  wash 
out  and  its  perils,  Chase  resumed  his  place  on  the 
hearse,  and  the  four  vehicles  continued  their  slow 
progress  down  the  mountain. 

After  a  while,  the  first  vague  clearness  preceding 
dawn  appeared  ;  the  rain  ceased.  Happening  to  turn 
his  head  fifteen  minutes  later,  he  was  startled  to  see, 
in  the  dim  light,  the  figure  of  a  woman  beside  the 
hearse.  It  was  Mrs.  Franklin.  The  road  was  now 
19 


290 


smoother,  and  she  walked  steadily  on,  keeping  up 
with  the  walk  of  the  horses.  As  the  light  grew 
clearer,  she  saw  who  the  driver  was,  and  her  eyes 
met  his  with  recognition.  But  her  rigid  face  seemed 
to  have  no  power  for  further  expression ;  it  was  set 
in  lines  that  could  not  alter.  Chase,  on  his  side, 
bowed  gravely,  taking  off  his  hat;  and  he  did  not 
put  it  on  again,  he  left  it  on  the  seat  by  his  side. 
He  made  no  attempt  to  stop  her,  to  persuade  her 
to  return  to  her  carriage ;  he  recognized  the  pres 
ence  of  one  of  those  moods  which,  when  they, 
take  possession  of  a  woman,  no  power  on  earth  can 
alter. 

As  they  came  to  the  first  outlying  houses  of  Ashe- 
ville,  he  gave  up  his  place  to  the  negro  driver,  and 
getting  down  on  the  other  side  of  the  hearse,  away 
from  Mrs.  Franklin,  he  went  back  for  a  moment  to 
Dolly.  "  You  must  let  her  do  it !  Don't  try  to  pre 
vent  her,"  Dolly  said,  imperatively,  in  a  low  tone,  the 
instant  she  saw  him  at  the  carriage  door. 

"  I'm  not  thinking  of  preventing  her,"  Chase  an 
swered.  Waiting  until  the  second  carriage  passed, 
he  looked  in  ;  Genevieve  was  still  asleep.  Then,  still 
bareheaded,  he  joined  Mrs.  Franklin,  and,  without 
speaking,  walked  beside  her  up  the  long,  gradual  as 
cent  which  leads  into  the  town. 

The  sun  now  appeared  above  the  mountains  ;  early 
risers  coming  to  their  windows  saw  the  dreary  file 
pass — the  wagon  and  the  two  carriages,  heavy  with 
mud ;  the  hearse  with  four  horses,  and  the  mother 


291 


walking-  beside  it.  As  they  reached  the  main  street, 
Chase  spoke.  "  The  Cottage  ?" 

"  No ;  home,"  Mrs.  Franklin  answered.  As  the 
hearse  turned  into  the  driveway  of  L' Horn  me  die  u, 
she  passed  it,  and,  going  on  in  advance,  opened  the 
house  door ;  here,  waving  away  old  Zoe  and  Rinda, 
who  came  hurrying  to  meet  her,  she  waited  on  the 
threshold  until  the  men  had  lifted  out  the  coffin  ; 
then,  leading  the  way  to  the  sitting-room,  she  pointed 
to  the  centre  of  the  floor. 

"  Oh,  not  to  our  house  ?"  Genevieve  whispered,  as 
she  alighted,  her  eyes  full  of  tears. 

But  Dolly,  to  whom  she  spoke,  limped  in  without 
answering,  and  Mrs.  Franklin  paid  no  more  heed  to 
her  daughter-in-law,  who  had  followed  her,  than  as 
though  she  did  not  exist.  Genevieve,  quivering  from 
her  grief,  turned  to  Horace  Chase. 

He  put  his  arm  round  her,  and  led  her  from  the 
sitting-room.  "  Give  way  to  her,  Gen,"  he  said,  in  a 
low  tone.  "  She  isn't  well — don't  you  see  it  ?  She 
isn't  herself ;  she  has  been  walking  beside  that  hearse 
for  the  last  hour !  Let  her  do  whatever  she  likes ; 
it's  her  only  comfort.  And  now  I  am  going  to  take 
you  straight  home,  and  you  must  go  to  bed ;  if  you 
don't,  you  won't  be  able  to  get  through  the  rest — 
and  you  wouldn't  like  that.  I'll  come  over  at  noon 
and  arrange  with  you  about  the'funeral;  to-morrow 
morning  will  be  the  best  time,  won't  it  ?"  And  half 
leading,  half  carrying  her,  for  Genevieve  was  now 
crying  helplessly,  he  took  her  home. 


292 


When  he  came  back,  Dolly  was  in  the  hall,  wait 
ing  for  him. 

There  was  no  one  in  the  sitting-room  save  Mrs. 
Franklin  ;  he  could  see  her  through  the  half -open 
door.  She  was  sitting  beside  the  coffin,  with  her 
head  against  it,  and  one  arm  laid  over  its  top.  Her 
dress  was  stained  with  mud;  she  had  not  taken  off 
her  bonnet ;  her  gloves  were  still  on.  Dolly  closed 
the  door,  and  shut  out  the  sight. 

"  You  ought  to  see  to  her ;  she  must  be  worn  out," 
Chase  said,  expostulatingly. 

"  I'll  do  what  I  can,"  Dolly  answered.  "  But  moth 
er  has  now  no  desire  to  live — that  will  be  the  difficulty. 
She  loves  Ruth,  and  she  loves  me.  But  not  in  the 
same  way.  Her  father,  her  husband,  and  her  son — 
these  have  been  mother's  life.  And  now  that  the 
last  has  gone,  the  last  of  the  three  men  she  adored, 
she  doesn't  care  to  stay.  That  is  what  she  is  think 
ing  now,  as  she  sits  there." 

"  Come,  you  can't  possibly  know  what  she  is  think 
ing,"  Chase  answered,  impatiently. 

"  I  always  know  what  is  in  mother's  mind ;  I  wish 
I  didn't !"  said  Dolly,  her  features  working  convul 
sively  for  a  moment.  Then  she  controlled  herself. 
"  I  am  sorry  you  came  all  the  way  back  with  us,  Mr. 
Chase.  It  wasn't  necessary  as  far  as  we  were  con 
cerned.  We  could  have  crossed  the  mountain  per 
fectly  well  without  you.  But  Ruth — that  is  another 
affair,  and  I  wish  you  had  gone  for  her  yourself,  in 
stead  of  sending  Mr.  Hill !  You  must  be  prepared 


293 


to  see  Rutli  greatly  changed.  I  should  not  be  sur 
prised  if  she  should  arrive  much  broken,  and  even  ill. 
She  was  very  fond  of  Jared.  She  will  be  over 
whelmed — "  Here,  feeling  that  she  was  saying  too 
much,  the  elder  sister  abruptly  disappeared. 

Chase,  left  alone,  went  out  to  see  to  the  horses. 
The  men  were  waiting  at  the  gate,  the  carriages  and 
the  hearse  were  drawn  up  at  a  little  distance  ;  the  un 
dertaker  and  his  assistants  were  standing  in  the  gar 
den.  "  Get  your  breakfast  at  the  hotel ;  I'll  send  for 
you  presently,"  he  said  to  the  latter.  Then  he  paid 
the  other  men,  and  dismissed  them.  "  You  go  and 
tell  whoever  has  charge,  to  have  that  bad  bit  of  road 
put  in  order  to-day,"  he  directed.  "  Tell  them  to  send 
up  a  hundred  hands,  if  necessary.  I'll  pay  the  extra." 


CHAPTER    XVI 

THE  morning  after  the  funeral,  Chase,  upon  com 
ing  down  to  breakfast,  found  Mrs.  Franklin  already 
in  the  sitting-room.  She  had  not  taken  the  trouble 
to  put  on  the  new  mourning  garb  which  had  been  has 
tily  made  for  her  ;  her  attire  was  a  brown  dress  which 
she  had  worn  in  Florida.  She  sat  motionless  in  her 
easy-chair,  with  her  arms  folded,  her  feet  on  a  foot 
stool,  and  her  face  had  the  same  stony  look  which 
had  not  varied  since  she  was  told,  upon  her  arrival 
at  Raleigh,  that  her  son  was  dead. 

"  Well,  ma'am,  I  hope  you  have  slept  ?"  Chase 
asked,  as  he  extended  his  hand. 

She  gave  him  hers  lifelessly. 

"  Yes  ;  I  believe  so." 

"Ruth  will  soon  be  here  now,"  her  son-in-law  went 
on,  as  he  seated  himself.  "  I  told  Hill  not  to  let  her 
travel  straight  through,  for  it  would  only  tire  her  ; 
and  she  needs  to  keep  well,  ma'am,  so  as  to  be  of  use 
to  you.  I'm  going  to  drive  over  to  Old  Fort  to-day, 
starting  late — about  six  o'clock,  I  guess.  I've  calcu 
lated  that  if  Ruth  spent  a  night  in  New  York  (as  she 
probably  did,  waiting  for  Hill  to  get  there),  and  if 
she  stops  over  one  night  on  the  way,  she  would  reach 
Old  Fort  to-morrow  noon.  Then  I'll  bring  her  right 
on  to  L'llommedieu." 


295 


"  Yes,  bring  her.     And  let  her  stay." 

"  As  long  as  ever  you  like,  ma'am.  I  can't  hold 
on  long  myself  just  now,  but  I'll  leave  her  with  you, 
and  come  for  her  later.  I  am  thinking  of  taking  a 
house  at  Newport  for  the  summer ;  I  hope  that  you 
and  Miss  Dolly  will  feel  like  spending  some  time, 
there  with  Ruth  ?  Say  August  and  September  ?" 

"  I  shall  travel  no  more.  Leave  her  with  me  ;  it 
won't  be  for  long." 

"  You  must  cheer  up,  ma'am — for  your  daugh 
ters'  sake." 

"  Ruth  has  you,"  Mrs.  Franklin  responded.  "  And 
you  are  good."  Her  tone  remained  lifeless.  But  it 
was  evident  that  her  words  were  sincere ;  that  a 
vague  sense  of  justice  had  made  her  rouse  herself 
long  enough  to  utter  the  commendation. 

"  That's  a  mistake.  I've  never  laid  claim  to  any 
thing  of  that  sort,"  Chase  answered  rather  curtly,  his 
face  growing  red. 

"  When  I  say  'good,"1 1  mean  that  you  will  be  good 
to  Ruth,"  said  the  mother  ;  "  it  is  the  only  sort  of 
goodness  I  care  for !  At  present  you  don't  like 
Dolly.  But  Dolly  is  so  absolutely  devoted  to  her 
sister  that  you  will  end  by  accepting  her,  faults  and 
all  ;  you  won't  mind  her  little  hostilities.  I  can  there 
fore  trust  them  both  to  you  —  I  do  so  with  confi 
dence,"  she  added.  And,  with  her  set  face  un 
changed,  she  made  him  a  little  bow. 

"  Why  talk  that  way,  ma'am?  We  hope  to  have 
you  with  us  many  years  longer,"  Chase  answered. 


296 


"A  green  old  age  is  a  very  fine  thing  to  see."  (lie 
thought  rather  well  of  that  phrase.)  "  My  grand 
mother — she  stuck  it  out  to  ninety-eight,  and  I  hope 
you'll  do  the  same." 

"  Probably  she  wished  to  live.  I  have  no  such  de 
sire.  As  I  sat  here  beside  my  son  the  morning  we 
arrived,  I  knew  that  I  longed  to  go,  too.  I  want  to 
be  with  him — and  with  my  husband — and  my  dear 
father.  My  life  here  has  now  come  to  its  end,  for 
they  were  my  life." 

"  That  queer  Dolly  knew  !"  thought  Chase.  "  But 
perhaps  they've  talked  about  it?"  He  asked  this 
question  aloud.  "  Have  you  told  your  daughter 
that,  ma'am  ?" 

"  Told  my  poor  Dolly  ?  Of  course  not.  Please 
go  to  breakfast,  Mr.  Chase ;  I  am  sure  it  is  ready." 
Chase  went  to  the  dining-room.  A  moment  later 
Dolly  came  in  to  pour  out  the  coffee. 

"  Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you  this  morning  ?" 
Chase  asked,  as  he  took  a  piece  of  Zoe's  hot  corn- 
bread.  "  I  am  going  to  drive  over  to  Old  Fort  this 
afternoon,  and  wait  there  for  Ruth,  for  I've  calcu 
lated  the  trains,  and  I  reckon  that  she  and  Hill  will 
reach  there  to-morrow." 

Dolly  looked  at  him  for  a  moment.  Then  she  said : 
"  You  have  a  great  deal  of  influence  with  Genevieve  ; 
perhaps  you  could  make  her  understand  that  for  the 
present  it  is  better  that  she  should  not  try  to  see 
mother.  Tell  her  that  mother  is  much  more  broken 
than  she  was  yesterday ;  tell  her  that  she  is  very 


297 


nervous ;  tell  her,  in  short,  anything  you  please,  pro 
vided  it  keeps  her  away  !"  Dolly  added,  suddenly 
giving  up  her  long  effort  to  hide  her  bitter  dislike. 

Chase  glanced  at  her,  and  said  nothing  ;  he  ate 
his  corn-bread,  and  finished  his  first  cup  of  coffee  in 
silence.  Then,  as  she  poured  out  the  second,  he  said : 
"  Well,  she  might  keep  away  entirely  ?  She  might 
leave  Asheville  ?  She  has  a  brother  in  St.  Louis,  and 
she  likes  the  place,  I  know ;  I've  heard  her  say  so. 
If  her  property  here  could  be  taken  off  her  hands — 
at  a  good  valuation  —  and  if  a  well-arranged,  well- 
furnished  house  could  be  provided  for  her  there, 
near  her  brother,  I  guess  she'd  go.  I  even  guess 
she'd  go  pretty  quick,"  he  added ;  "  she'd  be  a  long 
sight  happier  there  than  here."  For  though  he  had 
no  especial  affection  for  Genevieve,  he  at  least  liked 
her  better  than  he  liked  Dolly. 

Dolly,  however,  was  indifferent  to  his  liking  or 
his  disliking.  "  Oh  /"  she  said,  her  gaze  growing 
vague  in  the  intensity  of  her  wish,  "  if  it  could  only 
be  done !"  Then  her  brow  contracted,  she  pushed 
her  plate  away.  "  But  we  cannot  possibly  be  so  much 
indebted  to  you  —  I  mean-  so  much  more  indebted." 

"  You  needn't  count  yourself  in,  if  it  worries  you," 
Chase  answered  with  his  deliberate  utterance.  "  For 
I  should  be  doing  it  principally  for  Ruth,  you  know. 
When  she  comes,  the  first  thing  she'll  want  to  do,  of 
course,  is  to  make  her  mother  comfortable.  And  if 
Gen's  clearing  out,  root  and  branch,  will  help  that,  I 
rather  guess  Ruth  can  fix  it." 


298 


"  You  mean  that  you  can." 

"  Well,  we're  one ;  I  don't  think  that  even  you  can 
quite  break  that  up  yet,"  Chase  answered,  ironically. 
Then  he  went  on  in  a  gentler  tone :  "  I  want  to  do 
everything  I  can  for  your  mother.  She  has  always 
been  very  kind  to  me." 

And  Dolly  was  perfectly  well  aware  that,  as  he 
looked  at  her  (looked  at  her  yellow,  scowling  face), 
his  feeling  for  her  had  become  simply  pity,  pity  for 
the  sickly  old  maid  whom  no  one  could  possibly 
please — not  even  her  sweet  young  sister. 

Soon  after  breakfast  Chase  went  to  the  Cottage. 
Genevieve  received  him  gratefully.  Her  cheeks  were 
pale;  her  eyes  showed  the  traces  of  the  tears  of  the 
previous  day,  the  day  of  the  funeral. 

Her  visitor  remained  two  hours.  Then  he  rose, 
saying,  "  Well,  I  must  see  about  horses  if  I  am  to 
get  to  Old  Fort  to-night.  I  shall  tell  Ruth  about 
this  new  plan  of  ours,  Gen.  She'll  be  sure  to  like  it ; 
she'll  enjoy  going  to  St.  Louis  to  see  you ;  we'll  both 
come  often.  And  you'll  be  glad  of  a  change  yourself. 
The  other  house,  too,  is  likely  to  be  shut  up.  For, 
though  they  don't  say  so  yet,  I  guess  the  old  lady 
and  Dolly  will  end  by  spending  most  of  their  time 
with  Ruth,  in  New  York." 

"  I  must  go  over  and  see  mamma  at  once,"  an 
swered  Genevieve.  "  I  must  have  her  opinion,  first 
of  all.  I  shall  ask  mamma's  advice  more  than  ever 
now,  Horace ;  it  will  be  my  pleasure  as  well  as  my 
duty.  For  Jay  was  very  fond  of  his  mother ;  he 


299 


often  told  me — "  Her  voice  quivered,  and  she 
stopped. 

"  Now,  Gen,  listen  to  me,"  said  Chase,  taking  her 
hand.  "Don't  go  over  there  at  all  to-day.  And, 
when  you  go  to-morrow,  and  later,  don't  try  to  see 
the  old  lady  ;  wait  till  she  asks  for  you.  For  she  is 
all  unhinged  ;  I've  just  come  from  there,  and  I  know. 
She  is  very  nervous,  and  everything  upsets  her.  It 
won't  do  either  of  you  any  good  to  meet  at  present ;  it 
would  only  be  a  trial  to  you  both.  And  Dolly  says  so, 
too.  Promise  me  that  you'll  take  care  of  yourself ; 
promise  me  especially  that  you  won't  leave  the  house 
at  all  to-day,  but  stay  quietly  at  home  and  rest." 

Genevieve  promised.  But  after  he  had  gone,  the 
sense  of  duty  that  was  a  part  of  her  nature  led  her  to 
reconsider  her  determination.  That  her  husband 
should  have  been  laid  in  his  grave  only  twenty-four 
hours  before,  and  that  she,  the  widow,  should  not 
see  his  bereaved  mother  through  the  whole  day, 
when  their  houses  stood  side  by  side  ;  that  they 
should  not  mingle  their  tears,  and  their  prayers  also, 
while  their  sorrow  was  still  so  new  and  so  poignant 
— this  seemed  to  her  wrong.  In  addition,  it  seemed 
hardly  decent.  The  mother  was  ill  and  broken  ?  So 
much  the  more,  then,  was  it  her  duty  to  go  to  her. 
At  four  o'clock,  therefore,  she  put  on  her  bonnet 
and  its  long  crape  veil,  and  her  black  mantle,  and 
crossed  the  meadow  towards  L'Hommedieu. 

Mrs.  Franklin  was  still  sitting  in  the  easy  -  chair 
with  her  arms  folded,  as  she  had  sat  in  the  morning 


300 


when  Chase  came  in.  The  only  difference  was  that 
now  a  newspaper  lay  across  her  lap ;  she  had  hastily 
taken  it  from  the  table,  and  spread  it  over  her  knees, 
when  she  recognized  her  daughter-in-law's  step  on 
the  veranda. 

Genevieve  came  in.  She  was  startled  at  first  by 
the  sight  of  the  brown  dress,  which  happened  to  have 
red  tints  as  well  as  brown  in  its  fabric.  But  it  was 
only  another  cross  to  bear ;  her  husband's  family  had 
always  given  her  so  many  !  "  I  hope  you  slept  last 
night,  mamma  ?"  she  said,  bending  to  kiss  Mrs.  Frank 
lin's  forehead. 

"  Yes,  I  believe  so,"  the  elder  woman  answered, 
mechanically,  as  she  had  answered  Chase.  She  was 
now  indefinitely  the  elder.  Between  the  wife  of  forty, 
and  the  slender,  graceful,  vivacious  mother  of  fifty- 
eight,  there  had  been  but  the  difference  of  one  short 
generation.  But  now  the  mother  might  have  been 
any  age ;  her  shoulders  were  bent,  her  skin  looked 
withered,  and  all  the  outlines  of  her  face  were  set  and 
sharpened. 

Genevieve  took  off  her  crape  mantle,  folding  it 
(with  her  habitual  carefulness)  before  she  laid  it  on 
a  chair.  "  You  must  let  me  see  to  your  mourning, 
mamma,"  she  said,  as  she  thus  busied  herself.  "  I 
suppose  your  new  dress  doesn't  fit  you  ?  It  was  made 
so  hastily.  I  shall  be  sitting  quietly  at  home  for  the 
present,  day  after  day,  and  it  will  occupy  me  and 
take  my  thoughts  from  myself  to  have  some  sewing 
to  do.  And  I  know  how  to  cut  crape  to  advantage 


301 


also,  for  I  was  in  mourning  so  long  when  I  was  a 
girl." 

Mrs.  Franklin  made  no  reply. 

Her  daughter  -  in  -  law,  seating  herself  beside  her, 
stroked  back  her  gray  hair.  "  You  look  so  tired  ! 
And  I  am  afraid  Dolly  is  tired  out  also,  as  she  isn't 
with  you  ?" 

"  I  sent  her  to  bed  half  an  hour  ago  ;  for  I  am 
afraid  one  of  her  attacks  is  coming  on,"  Mrs.  Frank 
lin  answered,  her  lips  compressing  themselves  as  she 
endured  the  caress.  Genevieve's  touch  was  gen 
tle.  But  Mrs.  Franklin  did  not  like  to  have  her  hair 
stroked. 

"  Poor  Dolly  !  But,  surely,  it  is  not  surprising. 
I  must  see  her  before  I  go  back.  But  shall  I  go 
back,  mamma?  As  you  are  alone,  wouldn't  it  be 
better  for  me  to  stay  with  you  for  the  rest  of  the 
day  ?  I  could  read  to  you ;  I  should  love  to  do  it. 
It  seems  providential  that  my  dear  copy  of  Quiet 
Hours  should  have  come  back  from  Philadelphia 
only  yesterday  ;  I  had  sent  it  to  Philadelphia,  you 
know,  to  be  rebound.  But  there  have  been  greater 
providences  still ;  for  instance,  how  I  was  able  to 
get  to  Raleigh  in  time  to  see  our  dear  one.  For  the 
stage  had  gone  when  Horace's  telegram  came,  and 
Mr.  Bebb's  having  arranged,  by  a  mere  chance,  to 
drive  to  Old  Fort  with  that  pair  of  fast  horses  at 
the  very  moment  I  wished  to  start  —  surely  that  was 
providential  ?  But  you  look  so  white ;  do  let  me 
get  you  some  tea  ?  Or,  better  still,  won't  you  go  to 


302 


bed  ?  I  should  so  love  to  undress  you,  and  bathe 
your  face  with  cologne." 

Mrs.  Franklin  shook  her  head  ;  through  her  whole 
life  she  had  detested  cologne.  On  the  top  of  her 
dumb  despair,  on  the  top  of  her  profound  enmity, 
rose  again  (a  consciousness  sickening  to  herself)  all 
the  petty  old  irritations  against  this  woman  ;  against 
her  "  providential "  ;  her  Quiet  Hours  ;  her  "  sure 
ly  "  ;  her  "  cutting  crape  to  advantage  "  ;  and  even 
her  "  cologne."  She  closed  her  eyes  so  that  at  least 
she  need  not  see  her. 

"  I  have  had  a  letter  from  my  sister,"  Genevieve 
went  on.  "  I  brought  it  with  me,  thinking  that  you 
might  like  to  hear  it,  for  it  is  so  beautifully  expressed. 
As  you  don't  care  to  lie  down,  I'll  read  it  to  you 
now.  My  sister  reminds  me,  mamma,  that  in  the 
midst  of  my  grief  I  ought  to  remember  that  I  have 
had  one  great  blessing  —  a  blessing  not  granted  to 
all  wives  ;  and  that  is,  that  from  the  first  moment  of 
our  engagement  to  his  last  breath,  dear  Jay  was  per 
fectly  devoted  to  me  ;  he  never  looked  —  he  never 
cared  to  look  —  at  any  one  else  !" 

Mrs.  Franklin  refolded  her  arms  ;  her  hands,  laid 
over  her  elbows,  tightened  on  her  sleeves. 

Genevieve  began  to  read  the  letter.  But  when  she 
came  to  the  passage  she  had  quoted,  the  tears  began 
to  fall.  "  I  won't  go  on,"  she  said,  as  she  wiped 
them  away.  "  For  we  must  not  dwell  upon  our 
griefs — don't  you  think  so,  mamma  ?  Not  purposely 
remind  ourselves  of  them  ;  surely  that  is  unwise. 


303 


I  have  already  arranged  to  give  away  Jay's  clothes, 
for  instance  —  give  them  to  persons  who  really  need 
them.  For  as  long  as  they  are  in  the  house  I  can't 
help  cr-crying  whenever  I  see  them."  Her  voice 
broke,  and  she  stopped ;  her  effort  at  self-control, 
both  here  and  at  home,  was  sincere. 

She  replaced  the  letter  in  her  pocket.  And  as 
she  did  so,  the  crape  of  her  sleeve,  catching  on  the 
edge  of  the  newspaper  which  lay  over  Mrs.  Frank 
lin's  knees,  drew  it  so  far  to  one  side  that  it  fell  to 
the  floor.  And  there,  revealed  on  the  mother's  lap, 
lay  a  little  heap :  a  package  of  letters  in  a  school 
boy  hand ;  a  battered  top,  and  one  or  two  other 
toys ;  a  baby's  white  robe  yellow  with  age  ;  some 
curls  of  soft  hair,  and  a  little  pair  of  baby  shoes. 

"  Oh,  mamma,  are  you  letting  yourself  brood  over 
these  things  ?  Surely  it  is  not  wise  ?  Let  me  put 
them  away." 

But  Mrs.  Franklin,  gathering  her  poor  treasures 
from  Genevieve's  touch,  placed  them  herself  in  her 
secretary,  which  she  locked.  Then  she  began  to  walk 
to  and  fro  across  the  broad  room  —  to  and  fro,  to 
and  fro,  her  step  feverishly  quick. 

After  a  minute,  Genevieve  followed  her.  "  Mam 
ma,  try  to  be  resigned.  Try  to  be  calm." 

Mrs.  Franklin  stopped.  She  faced  round  upon 
her  daughter-in-law.  "  You  dare  to  offer  advice  to 
me,  you  barren  woman  ?  You  tell  me  to  be  resigned  ? 
What  do  you  know  of  a  mother's  love  for  her  son — 
you  who  have  never  borne  a  child  ?  You  can  com- 


304 


prehend  neither  my  love  nor  my  grief.  Providential, 
is  it,  that  you  reached  Raleigh  in  time  ?  Providence 
is  a  strange  thing  if  it  assists  you.  For  you  have 
killed  your  husband  —  killed  him  as  certainly  as 
though  you  had  given  him  slow  poison.  You  broke 
up  his  life — the  only  life  he  loved  ;  you  never  rested 
until  you  had  forced  him  out  of  the  navy.  And 
then,  your  greed  for  money  made  you  urge  him  in 
cessantly  to  go  into  business  —  into  business  for 
himself,  which  he  knew  nothing  about.  You  gave 
him  no  peace ;  you  drove  him  on ;  your  determina 
tion  to  have  all  the  things  you  care  for  —  a  house  of 
your  own  and  a  garden  ;  chairs  and  tables  ;  hand 
some  clothes ;  money  for  charities  "  (impossible  to 
describe  the  bitterness  of  this  last  phrase)  —  "  these 
have  been  far  more  important  to  you  than  anything 
else — than  his  own  happiness,  or  his  own  welfare. 
And,  lately,  your  process  of  murder  has  gone  on 
faster.  For  he  has  been  very  ill  all  winter  (I  know 
it  now  /)  and  you  have  not  been  near  him  ;  you  have 
stayed  here  month  after  month,  buying  land  with 
Ruth's  money,  filling  your  pockets  and  telling  him 
nothing  of  it,  adding  to  your  house,  and  saying  to 
yourself  comfortably  meanwhile  that  this  wise  course 
of  yours  would  in  the  end  bring  him  round  to  your 
views.  It  has  brought  him  round  —  to  his  death  ! 
His  life  for  years  has  been  wretched,  and  you  were 
the  cause  of  the  misery.  For  it  was  his  feeling  of 
being  out  of  his  place,  his  gradual  discouragement, 
his  sense  of  failure,  that  finally  broke  down  his 


305 


health.  If  lie  had  never  seen  you,  he  might  have 
lived  to  be  an  old  man,  filling  with  honor  the  posi 
tion  he  was  fitted  for.  Now,  at  thirty-nine,  he  is 
dead.  He  was  faithful  to  yon,  you  say  ?  He  was. 
And  it  is  my  greatest  regret !  I  do  not  wish  ever  to 
see  your  face  again.  For  he  was  the  joy  of  my  life, 
and  you  were  the  curse  of  his.  Go  !" 

These  sentences,  poured  out  in  clear,  vibrating 
tones,  had  filled  Genevieve  with  horror.  And  some 
thing  that  was  almost  fear  followed  as  the  mother, 
coming  nearer,  her  eyes  blazing  in  her  death-like  face, 
emphasized  her  last  words  by  stretching  out  her  arm 
with  a  gesture  that  was  fiercely  grand — the  grandeur 
of  her  bereavement  and  her  despair. 

Genevieve  escaped  to  the  hall.  Then,  after  waiting 
for  a  moment  uncertainly,  she  hurried  home. 

When  the  sound  of  her  footsteps  had  died  away, 
Mrs.  Franklin  went  to  the  secretary  and  took  out 
again  the  dress  and  the  top,  the  little  shoes  and  the 
baby-curls ;  seating  herself,  she  began  to  rearrange 
them.  But  her  hands  only  moved  for  a  moment  or 
two.  Then  her  head  sank  back,  her  eyes  closed. 
20 


CHAPTEE   XVII 

As  it  happened,  Horace  Chase  was  the  next  person 
who  entered  the  parlor.  He  was  touched  when  he 
saw  the  old-looking  figure,  with  the  pathetic  little 
heap  in  its  lap.  But  when  he  perceived  that  the 
figure  was  unconscious,  he  was  much  alarmed ;  sum 
moning  help,  he  sent  hastily  for  a  doctor.  After  be 
ing  removed  to  her  own  room,  Mrs.  Franklin  was  ex 
tremely  restless ;  she  moved  her  head  incessantly 
from  side  to  side  on  the  pillow,  and  she  seemed  to 
be  half  blind ;  her  mind  wandered,  and  her  voice,  as 
she  spoke  incoherently,  was  very  weak.  Then  sud 
denly  she  sank  into  a  lethargic  slumber.  The  doctor 
waited  to  see  in  what  condition  she  would  waken  ; 
for  there  were  symptoms  he  did  not  like.  Miss  Billy, 
meanwhile,  was  installed  as  nurse. 

Mrs.  Kip,  Maud  Muriel,  and  Miss  Billy  had  visited 
this  house  of  mourning  many  times  since  the  arrival 
of  the  funeral  procession  two  days  before,  with  the 
mother  walking  beside  the  coffin  of  her  son.  And 
now  that  this  poor  mother  was  stricken  down,  they 
all  came  again,  anxious  to  be  of  use.  Chase,  who 
had  always  liked  her  gentle  ways,  selected  Miss  Billy. 

Dolly  knew  nothing  of  her  mother's  prostration  ; 
for  her  pain  (her  old  enemy),  having  been  deadened 


307 


by  an  opiate,  she  was  sleeping.  In  order  that  she 
should  not  suspect  what  had  happened,  Miss  Billy 
did  not  show  herself  at  all  in  Dolly's  room ;  Einda, 
who  was  accustomed  to  this  service,  was  established 
there  on  a  pallet,  ready  to  answer  if  called. 

Chase  had  decided  that  he  would  wait  for  the  doc 
tor's  report  before  starting  on  his  drive  across  the 
mountain  ;  it  would  be  satisfactory  to  have  something 
definite  to  tell  Ruth.  It  was  uncertain  when  that  re 
port  would  come.  But  as  he  intended  to  set  out,  in 
spite  of  the  darkness,  the  first  moment  that  it  was 
possible,  there  was  no  use  in  going  to  bed.  Alone  in 
the  parlor,  therefore,  he  first  read  through  all  the 
newspapers  he  could  find.  Then,  opening  the  win 
dow,  he  smoked  a  cigar  or  two.  Finally,  his  mind 
reverted,  as  it  usually  did  when  he  was  alone,  to  busi 
ness  ;  drawing  a  chair  to  the  table,  he  took  out  some 
memoranda  and  sat  down.  Midnight  passed.  One 
o'clock  came.  Two  o'clock.  He  still  sat  there, 
absorbed.  Mrs.  Franklin's  reading-lamp,  burning 
brightly  beside  him,  lighted  up  his  hard,  keen  face. 
For  it  looked  hard  now,  with  its  three  deeply  set 
lines,  one  on  each  side  of  the  mouth,  and  one  be 
tween  the  eyes ;  and  the  eyes  themselves  were  hard 
and  sharp.  But  though  the  business  letter  he  was 
engaged  upon  was  a  masterpiece  of  shrewdness  (as 
those  who  received  it  would  not  fail  to  discover 
sooner  or  later),  and  though  it  dealt  with  large  inter 
ests  that  were  important,  the  faintest  sound  upstairs 
would  have  instantly  caught  the  attention  of  its 


308 


writer.  On  a  chair  beside  him  were  railroad  time 
tables,  and  a  sheet  of  commercial  note-paper  with 
two  lines  of  figures  jotted  down  in  orderly  rows  side 
by  side ;  these  represented  the  two  probabilities  re 
garding  the  trains  which  his  wife  might  take — their 
hours  of  departure  and  their  connections.  He  had 
received  no  telegrams,  and  this  had  surprised  him. 
"  What  can  the  little  chap  be  about  ?"  he  had  more 
than  once  thought.  His  adjective  "  little  "  was  not 
depreciatory ;  Malachi  Hill  was,  in  fact,  short.  In 
addition,  his  fresh,  pink-tinged  complexion  and  bright 
blue  eyes  gave  him  a  boyish  air.  To  Horace  Chase, 
who  was  over  six  feet  in  height,  and  whose  dark  face 
looked  ten  years  older  than  it  really  was,  the  young 
missionary  (whom  he  sincerely  liked)  seemed  juve 
nile;  his  youthful  appearance,  in  fact,  combined  with 
his  unmistakable  "grit"  (as  Chase  called  it),  had  been 
the  thing  which  had  first  attracted  the  notice  of  the 
millionaire. 

A  little  before  three  there  was  a  sound.  But  it 
was  not  from  upstairs,  it  was  outside ;  steps  were 
coming  up  the  path  from  the  gate.  The  man  in  the 
parlor  went  into  the  hall ;  and  as  he  did  so,  to  his 
surprise  the  house -door  opened  and  his  wife  came 
in. 

Behind  her  there  was  a  momentary  vision  of 
Malachi  Hill.  The  clergyman,  however,  did  not 
enter ;  upon  seeing  Horace  Chase,  he  closed  the 
door  quietly  and  went  away. 

Ruth's  face,  even  to  the  lips,  was    so  white  that 


309 


her  husband  hastily  put  his  arm  round  her  ;  then  he 
drew  her  into  the  sitting  -  room,  closing  the  door 
behind  them. 

"  Where  is  he  ?"  Ruth  had  asked,  or  rather,  her 
lips  formed  the  words.  "  Didn't  you  wait  for  me?" 

"  My  darling,  he  was  buried  yesterday,"  Chase 
answered,  sitting  down  and  drawing  her  into  his 
arms.  "  Didn't  Hill  tell  you  ?" 

"Yes,  but  I  didn't  believe  it.  I  thought  you 
would  wait  for  me ;  I  thought  you  would  know 
that  I  wanted  to  see  him." 

"  No  one  saw  him  after  we  left  Raleigh,  dear. 
The  coffin  was  not  opened  again." 

"  If  I  had  been  here,  mother  would  have  —  mother 
would  have — " 

"  It  was  your  mother  who  arranged  everything," 
Chase  explained  gently,  as  with  careful  touch  he 
took  off  her  hat,  and  then  her  gloves  ;  her  hands 
were  icy,  and  he  held  them  in  his  to  warm  them. 

"  Where  is  mother  ?  And  Dolly  ?  Weren't  they 
expecting  me  ?  Didn't  they  know  I  would  come  ?" 

"  Your  mother  is  sick  upstairs.  No,  don't  get  up 
— you  can't  see  her  now  ;  she  is  asleep,  and  mustn't 
be  disturbed.  But  the  first  moment  she  wakes  up 
the  doctor  is  to  let  me  know,  and  then  you  shall  go 
to  her  right  away.  Miss  Breeze  is  up  there  keeping 
watch.  Dolly  has  broken  down,  too.  But  Dolly's 
case  is  no  worse  than  it  has  often  been  before,  and 
you'd  better  let  her  sleep  while  she  can.  And  now, 
will  you  stay  here  with  me,  Ruthic,  till  the  doctor 


310 


comes  ?  Or  would  you  rather  go  to  bed  ?  If  you'll 
go,  I  promise  to  tell  you  the  minute  your  mother 
wakes."  He  put  his  hand  on  her  head  protectingly, 
and  kissed  her  cheek.  Her  face  was  cold.  Her 
whole  frame  had  trembled  incessantly  from  the 
moment  of  her  entrance.  "  My  darling  little  girl, 
how  tired  you  are  !" 

"  Tell  me  everything  —  everything  about  Jared," 
Ruth  demanded,  feverishly. 

Though  she  was  so  white,  it  was  evident  that  she 
had  not  shed  tears  ;  her  eyes  were  bright,  her  lips 
were  parched.  Her  husband,  with  his  rough-and- 
ready  knowledge  of  women,  knew  that  it  would  be 
better  for  her  to  "  have  her  cry  out,"  as  he  would  have 
phrased  it ;  it  would  quiet  her  excitement  and  sub 
due  her  so  that  she  would  sleep.  As  she  could  not 
eat,  he  gave  her  a  spoonful  of  brandy  from  his  own 
flask,  and  wrapped  her  cold  feet  in  his  travelling- 
shawl  ;  then,  putting  her  on  the  sofa,  he  sat  down 
beside  her,  and,  holding  her  tenderly  in  his  arms,  he 
told  her  the  story  of  Jared's  last  hours. 

His  account  was  truthful,  save  that  he  softened  the 
details.  In  his  narrative  Mrs.  Nightingale's  shabby 
house  became  homelike  and  comfortable,  and  Jared's 
bare  attic  a  pleasant  place  ;  Mrs.  Nightingale  herself 
(here  there  was  no  need  for  exaggeration)  was  an 
angel  of  kindness.  He  dwelt  upon  Jared's  having 
agreed  to  go  with  him  to  New  York.  "I  had 
planned  to  start  at  nine  o'clock  the  next  morning, 
Ruthie,  having  a  doctor  along  without  his  knowing 


311 


it ;  and  I  had  ordered  a  private  car  —  a  Pullman 
sleeper — to  go  through  to  New  York  ;  once  there,  I 
thought  you  could  make  him  take  a  good  long  rest. 
That  kind  woman  had  been  sitting  up  at  night  in  the 
room  next  to  his.  So  I  fixed  that  by  taking  the 
same  room  myself.  I  didn't  undress,  but  I  guess  I 
fell  asleep  ;  and  I  woke  up  hearing  him  talking.  And 
then  he  walked  about  the  room,  and  he  even  climbed 
out  on  the  roof ;  but  we  soon  got  him  back  all  right. 
Everything  possible  was  done,  dear  ;  the  best  doctor 
in  Raleigh,  and  a  nurse — two  of  'era.  But  it  was 
no  use.  It  was  brain-fever,  or  inflammation  of  the 
brain  rather,  and  after  it  had  left  him  he  was  too 
weak  to  rally.  They  thought  everything  of  him  at 
Raleigh ;  your  mother  wanted  him  brought  here,  and 
when  we  went  to  the  depot,  everybody  who  had 
ever  known  him  turned  out,  so  that  there  was  a  long 
procession  ;  and  all  the  ladies  of  his  boarding-house 
brought  flowers.  At  Old  Fort,  I  had  intended  to  let 
Hill  (I  had  wired  to  him  to  meet  us  there)'  take 
charge  of  them  across  the  mountains,  for  I  wanted  to 
go  to  New  York  to  get  you.  But  the  night  was 
dark,  and  the  road  is  always  so  bad  that  I  thought, 
on  the  whole,  you'd  rather  have  me  stay  with  your 
mother.  And  she  has  been  tolerably  well,  too,  until 
this  afternoon,  when  she  had  an  attack  of  some  sort. 
But  I  guess  it's  only  that  she  is  overtired ;  the  doc 
tor  will  probably  come  down  and  tell  us  so  before 
long." 

"  I  ivanted  to  see  him,"  repeated  Ruth,  her  eyes 


312 


still  dry  and  bright.  "  It  was  very  little  to  do  for  me, 
I  think.  If  I  could  have  just  taken  his  poor  hand 
once — even  if  it  was  dead !  Everybody  else  got 
there  in  time  to  speak  to  him,  to  say  good-by." 

"  No  ;  your  mother  didn't  get  there,"  Chase  ex 
plained. 

"She  didn't  get  there?  And  Genevieve  did?  I 
know  it  by  your  face.  Let  me  go  to  mother — poor 
mother !  Let  me  go  to  her,  and  never  leave  her 
again." 

"  You  shall  go  the  instant  she  wakes  ;  you  shall 
stay  with  her  as  long  as  you  like,"  Chase  answered, 
drawing  her  down  again,  and  putting  his  cheek 
against  her  head  as  it  lay  on  his  breast.  "  There  is 
nothing  in  the  world  I  wouldn't  do  for  your  mother ; 
you  have  only  to  choose.  And  for  Dolly,  too.  You 
shall  stay  with  them  ;  or  they  can  go  with  you ;  or 
anything  you  think  best,  my  poor  little  girl." 

Ruth  still  trembled,  and  no  tears  came  to  her 
relief. 

Her  cry,  "  And  Genevieve  did  ?"  had  struck  him. 
"  How  they  all  hate  her  2"  he  thought. 

He  had  seen  Genevieve  since  Mrs.  Franklin's 
attack ;  he  had  gone  over  for  a  moment  to  tell  her 
what  had  happened. 

Genevieve,  when  driven  from  L'llommedieu,  had 
taken  refuge  in  her  own  room  at  the  Cottage ;  here, 
behind  her  locked  door,  she  had  spent  a  long  hour 
in  examining  herself  searchingly,  examining  her 
whole  married  life.  Her  hands  had  trembled  as  she 


313 


looked  over  her  diaries,  and  as  she  turned  the  pages 
of  her  "  Questions  for  the  Conscience."  But  with  all 
her  efforts  she  could  not  discern  any  point  where  she 
had  failed.  Finally,  at  the  end  of  the  examination, 
she  summed  the  matter  up  more  calmly:  "It  was 
best  for  Jared  to  be  out  of  the  navy ;  he  was  form 
ing  habits  there  that  I  understood  better  than  his 
mother.  And  I  know  that  I  am  not  avaricious.  I 
know  that  I  have  always  tried  to  do  what  was  best 
for  him,  that  I  have  tried  to  elevate  him  and  help  him 
in  every  way.  I  have  worked  hard — hard.  I  have 
never  ceased  to  work.  It  is  all  a  falsehood,  or,  rather, 
it  is  a  delusion  ;  for  she  is,  she  must  be,  insane." 
Having  reached  this  conclusion  (with  Genevieve  con 
clusions  were  final),  she  put  away  her  diaries  and 
went  down-stairs  to  tea.  When  Chase  came  in  and 
told  what  had  happened,  she  said,  with  the  utmost 
pity,  "  I  am  not  surprised  !  When  she  comes  out  of 
it,  I  fear  you  will  find,  Horace,  that  her  mind  is  af 
fected.  But  surely  it  is  natural.  Mamma's  mind — 
poor,  dear  mamma! — never  was  very  strong  ;  and,  in 
this  great  grief  which  has  overwhelmed  us  all,  it  has 
given  way.  We  must  make  every  allowance  for  her." 
She  told  him  nothing  of  her  terrible  half-hour  at 
L'Hommedieu.  She  never  told  any  one.  Silence  was 
the  only  proper  course — a  pitying  silence  over  Jay's 
poor  mother,  his  crazed  mother. 

Ruth  had  paid  no  heed  to  her  husband's  soothing 
words,  his  promise  to  do  everything  that  he  possibly 
could  for  her  mother  and  Dolly.  "  What  did  Jared 


314 


say  ?  You  were  with  him  before  he  was  ill.  Tell  me 
everything,  everything !" 

He  tried  to  satisfy  her.  Then  he  attempted  to 
draw  her  thoughts  in  another  direction.  "  How  did 
you  get  here  so  soon,  Rutirie  ?  I  told  Hill  to  make 
you  stop  over  and  sleep." 

"  Sleep  !"  repeated  Ruth.  "  I  only  thought  of  one 
thing,  and  that  was  to  get  here  in  time  to  see  him." 
She  left  the  sofa.  "You  ought  to  have  waited  for 
me.  It  would  have  been  better  if  you  had.  Jared 
was  the  one  I  cared  for.  One  look  at  his  face,  even 
if  he  was  dead.  Where  did  they  put  him  when  they 
brought  him  home  ?  For  I  know  mother  had  him 
here,  here  and  not  at  the  Cottage.  It  was  in  this  room, 
wasn't  it  ?  In  the  centre  of  the  floor  ?"  She  walked 
to  the  middle  of  the  room  and  stood  there.  "Jared 
could  have  helped  me,"  she  said,  miserably.  "  Why 
did  they  take  my  brother — the  one  person  I  had !" 

The  door  opened  and  the  doctor  entered.  "  You 
here,  Mrs.  Chase  ?  I  didn't  know  you  had  come." 
He  hesitated. 

"What  is  it?"  said  Ruth,  going  to  him.  "Tell 
me  !  Tell  me." 

The  doctor  glanced  at  Chase. 

Chase  came  up,  and  took  his  wife's  hand  pro- 
tectingly.  "  You  may  as  well  tell  her." 

"  It  is  a  stroke  of  paralysis,"  explained  the  doctor, 
gravely. 

"  But  she'll  know  me  ?"  cried  Ruth  in  an  agony  of 
tears. 


315 


"  She  may.     You  can  go  up  if  you  like." 

But  the  mother  saw  nothing,  heard  nothing  on 
earth  again.  She  might  live  for  years.  But  she  did 
not  know  her  own  child. 

Chase  came  at  last,  and  took  his  wife  away. 

"  Oh,  be  good  to  me,  Horace,  or  I  shall  die !  I 
think  I  am  dying  now,"  she  added  in  sudden  terror. 

She  clung  to  him  in  alarm.  His  immense  kind 
ness  was  now  her  refuge. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

IN  spite  of  all  there  was  to  see  that  afternoon, 
Dolly  Franklin  had  chosen  to  remain  at  home  ;  she 
sat  alone  in  the  drawing-room,  adding  silken  rows  to 
her  stocking  of  the  moment.  Wherever  Ruth  was, 
that  was  now  Dolly's  home ;  since  Mrs.  Franklin's 
death,  two  years  before,  Dolly  had  lived  with  her 
sister.  The  mother  had  survived  her  son  but  a 
month.  Her  soul  seemed  to  have  departed  with  the 
first  stroke  of  the  benumbing  malady  ;  there  was 
nothing  but  the  breathing  left.  At  the  end  of  a 
few  weeks,  even  the  breathing  ceased.  Since  then, 
L'llommedieu  had  been  closed,  save  for  a  short  time 
each  spring.  Horace  Chase  had  bought  a  cottage  at 
Newport,  and  his  wife  and  Dolly  had  divided  their 
time  between  Newport  and  New  York.  This  winter, 
however,  Chase  had  reopened  his  Florida  house,  the 
old  Worth  place,  at  St.  Augustine  ;  for  Ruth's  health 
appeared  to  be  growing  delicate ;  at  least  she  had  a 
dread  of  the  cold,  of  the  icy  winds,  and  the  snow. 

"  Well,  we'll  go  back  to  the  land  of  the  alligators," 
said  Chase  ;  "  we'll  live  on  sweet  potatoes  and  the 
little  oysters  that  grow  round  loose.  You  seem  to 
have  forgotten  that  you  own  a  shanty  down  there, 
Ruthie  ?" 


317 


At  first  Ruth  opposed  this  idea.  Then  suddenly 
she  changed  her  mind.  "  No,  I'll  go.  I  want  to 
sail,  and  sail  !" 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Dolly.  "Bat  why  shouldn't  we 
try  new  waters  ?  The  Bay  of  Naples,  for  instance  ? 
Mr.  Chase,  if  you  cannot  go  over  at  present,  you 
could  come  for  us,  you  know,  whenever  it  was  con 
venient  ?"  Dolly  expended  upon  her  idea  all  the 
eloquence  she  possessed. 

But  Horace  Chase  never  liked  to  have  his  wife  be 
yond  the  reach  of  a  railroad.  He  himself  often  made 
long,  rapid  journeys  without  her.  But  he  was  un 
willing  to  have  her  "  on  the  other  side  of  the  ferry," 
as  he  called  it,  unless  he  could  accompany  her ;  and 
at  present  there  were  important  business  interests 
which  held  him  at  home.  As  Ruth  also  paid  small 
heed  to  Dolly's  brilliant  (and  wholly  imaginary)  pict 
ures  of  Capri,  Ischia,  and  Sorrento,  the  elder  sister 
had  been  forced  (though  with  deep  inward  reluc 
tance)  to  yield  ;  since  December,  therefore,  they  had 
all  been  occupying  the  pleasant  old  mansion  that 
faced  the  sea-wall. 

To-day,  four  o'clock  came,  and  passed.  Five 
o'clock  came,  and  passed ;  and  Dolly  still  sat  there 
alone.  At  last  she  put  down  her  knitting,  and,  tak 
ing  her  cane,  limped  upstairs  and  peeped  into  her 
sister's  dressing-room.  Ruth,  who  was  lying  on  the 
lounge  with  her  face  hidden,  appeared  to  be  asleep. 
Dolly,  therefore,  closed  the  door  noiselessly  and 
limped  down  again.  Outside  the  weather  was  ideal- 


]y  lovely.  The  beautiful  floral  arch  which  had  been 
erected  in  the  morning  still  filled  the  air  with  its 
fragrance,  though  the  tea-roses  of  which  it  was  com 
posed  were  now  beginning  to  droop.  St.  Augus 
tine,  or  rather  the  visitors  from  the  North,  who  at 
this  season  filled  the  little  Spanish  town,  had  set  up 
this  blossoming  greeting  in  honor  of  a  traveller  who 
was  expected  by  the  afternoon  train.  This  traveller 
had  now  arrived ;  he  had  passed  through  the  floral 
gateway  in  the  landau  which  was  bringing  him  from 
the  station.  The  arch  bore  as  its  legend  :  "  The  An 
cient  City  welcomes  the  great  Soldier."  The  quiet- 
looking  man  in  the  landau  was  named  Grant. 

At  length  Dolly  had  a  visitor  ;  Mrs.  Kip  was  shown 
in.  A  moment  later  the  Reverend  Malachi  Hill  ap 
peared,  his  face  looking  flushed,  as  though  he  had 
been  in  great  haste.  Mrs.  Kip's  eyes  had  a  conscious 
expression  when  she  saw  him.  She  tried  to  cover  it 
by  saying,  enthusiastically,  "  How  well  you  do  look, 
Mr.  Hill !  You  look  so  fresh  ;  really  classic." 

The  outline  of  the  clergyman's  features  was  not 
the  one  usually  associated  with  this  adjective.  But 
Mrs.  Kip  was  not  a  purist ;  it  was  classic  enough,  in 
her  opinion,  to  have  bright  blue  eyes  and  golden 
hair ;  the  accidental  line  of  the  nose  and  mouth  was 
less  important. 

"  Yes,  my  recovery  is  now  complete,"  Malachi  an 
swered  ;  "  I  must  go  back  to  my  work  in  a  day  or 
two.  But  I  wish  it  hadn't  been  measles,  you  know. 
Such  a  ridiculous  malady  !" 


819 


"  Oh,  don't  say  that ;  measles  are  so  sweet,  so  do 
mestic.  They  make  one  think  of  dear  little  children  ; 
and  lemons,"  said  Mrs.  Kip,  imaginatively.  "  And 
then,  when  they  are  getting  well,  all  sorts  of  toys  I" 

While  she  was  speaking,  Anthony  Etheridge  en 
tered.  And  he,  too,  looked  as  if  he  had  been  mak 
ing  haste.  "  What,  Dolly,  neither  you  nor  Ruth 
out  on  this  great  occasion  ?  Are  you  a  bit  of  a  cop 
perhead  ?" 

"  No,"  Dolly  answered.  "  I  haven't  spirit  enough. 
Mij  only  spirit  is  in  a  lamp ;  I  have  been  making 
flaxseed  tea  and  hot  lemonade  for  Ruth,  who  has  a 
cold." 

"  Does  she  swallow  your  messes  ?"  Etheridge 
asked. 

"  Never.  But  I  like  to  fuss  over  them,  and 
measure  them  out,  and  stir  them  up  !" 

"  Just  as  I  do  for  Evangeline  Taylor,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Kip,  affectionately. 

"  Lilian,  isn't  Evangeline  long  enough  without  that 
Taylor  ?"  Dolly  suggested.  "  I  have  always  meant 
to  ask  you." 

"  I  do  it  as  a  remembrance  of  her  father,"  replied 
Lilian,  with  solemnity  "  For  I  myself  am  a  Taylor 
no  longer  ;  /  am  a  Kip." 

"  Oh,  is  that  it  ?  And  if  you  should  marry  again, 
what  then  could  you  do  (as  there  is  no  second 
Evangeline)  for  your  present  name  ?"  Dolly  inquired, 
gravely. 

"  I  have  thought  of  that,"   answered  the  widow. 


320 


"  And  I  have  decided  that  I  shall  keep  it.  It  shall 
precede  any  new  name  I  may  take  ;  I  should  make  it 
a  condition." 

"You  are  warned,  gentlemen,"  commented  Dolly. 

Etheridge  for  an  instant  looked  alarmed.  Then, 
as  he  saw  that  Malachi  had  reddened  violently,  he 
grew  savage.  "  Kip-Hill  ?  Kip-Larue  ?  Kip-Wil- 
loughby  ?"  he  repeated,  as  if  trying  them.  "  Walter 
Willoughby,  however,  is  very  poor  dependence  for 
you,  Mrs.  Lilian  ;  for  he  is  evidently  here  in  the 
train  of  the  Barclays.  lie  arrived  with  them  yester 
day,  and  he  tells  me  he  is  going  up  the  Ockla- 
waha ;  I  happen  to  know  that  the  Barclays  are  tak 
ing  that  trip,  also." 

Walter  Willoughby's  name  had  rendered  Mrs. 
Kip  visibly  conscious  a  second  time.  The  commo 
dore's  allusion  to  "  the  Barclays,"  and  to  Walter's 
being  "  in  their  train,"  had  made  no  impression  upon 
her.  They  were  presumably  ladies ;  but  Lilian's 
mind  was  never  troubled  by  the  attractions  of  other 
women,  she  was  never  jealous.  One  reason  for  this 
immunity  lay  in  the  fact  that  she  was  always  so  ac 
tively  engaged  in  the  occupation  of  loving  that  she 
had  no  time  for  jealousy ;  another  was  that  she  had 
in  her  heart  a  soft  conviction,  modest  but  fixed,  re 
garding  the  power  of  her  own  charms.  As  excuse 
for  her,  it  may  be  mentioned  that  the  conviction  was 
not  due  to  imagination,  it  was  a  certainty  forced 
upon  her  by  actual  fact ;  from  her  earliest  girlhood 
men  had  been  constantly  falling  in  love  with  her,  and 


apparently  they  were  going  to  continue  it  indefinite 
ly.  But  though  not  jealous  herself,  she  sympathized 
deeply  with  the  pain  which  this  tormenting  feeling 
gave  to  others,  and,  on  the  present  occasion,  she 
feared  that  Malachi  might  be  suffering  from  the 
mention  of  Walter  Willoughby's  name,  and  that  of 
Achilles  Larue,  in  connection  with  her  own ;  she 
therefore  began  to  talk  quickly,  as  a  diversion  to  an 
other  subject.  "  Oh,  do  you  know,  as  I  came  here 
this  afternoon  I  was  reminded  of  something  I  have 
often  meant  to  ask  you — ask  all  of  you,  and  I'll  say 
it  now,  as  it's  in  my  mind.  Don't  you  know  that 
sign  one  so  often  sees  everywhere — 'Job  Printing'? 
There  is  one  in  Charlotte  Street,  and  it  was  seeing 
it  there  just  now  as  I  passed  that  made  me  think 
of  it  again.  I  suppose  it  must  be  some  especial  kind 
of  printing  that  they  have  named  after  Job  ?  But  it 
has  always  seemed  to  me  so  odd,  because  there  was, 
of  course,  no  printing  at  all,  until  some  time  after 
Job  was  dead?  Or  do  you  suppose  it  means  that 
printers  have  to  be  so  very  patient  (with  the  bad 
handwriting  that  comes  to  them),  that  they  name 
themselves  after  Job  ?" 

Dolly  put  down  her  knitting.  "  Lilian,  come  here 
and  let  me  kiss  you.  You  are  too  enchanting !" 

Mrs.  Kip  kissed  Dolly  with  amiability.  She  al 
ready  knew — she  could  not  help  knowing — that  she 
was  too  enchanting.  But  it  was  not  often  a  woman's 
voice  that  mentioned  the  fact.  "  It  is  late,  I  must 
go,"  she  said.  "  Mr.  Hill,  if  you — if  you  want  those 


322 


roses  for  Mrs.  Chase's  bouquet,  this  is  the  best  time 
to  gather  them." 

Malachi  Hill  found  his  hat  with  alacrity,  and  they 
went  out  together.  And  then  Etheridge  took  refuge 
in  general  objurgations.  "  I'm  dead  sick  of  Florida, 
Dolly !  It's  so  monotonous.  So  flat,  and  deep  in 
sand.  No  driving  is  possible.  One  of  the  best  drives 
I  ever  had  in  my  life  was  in  a  sleigh ;  right  up  the 
Green  Mountains.  The  snow  was  over  the  tops  of 
the  fences,  and  the  air  clear  as  a  bell !" 

"Do  the  Green  Mountains  interest  the  little  tur 
tle-dove  who  has  just  gone  out?"  Dolly  inquired. 

"  Little  turtle-fool !  She  makes  eyes  at  every  young 
idiot  who  comes  along." 

"  Oh  no,  she  only  coos.  It's  her  natural  language. 
I  won't  answer  as  to  Achilles  Larue,  commodore,  for 
that  is  a  long-standing  passion  ;  she  began  to  admire 
his  fur-lined  overcoat,  his  neat  shoes,  his  *  ish,'  and 
his  mystic  coldness  within  a  month  after  the  depart 
ure  of  her  second  dear  one.  But  as  to  her  other 
flames,  I  think  you  could  cut  them  out  in  her  affec 
tions  if  you  would  give  your  mind  to  it  seriously ; 
yes,  even  the  contemporary  Willoughby.  But  you'll 
never  give  your  mind  to  it,  you're  a  dog  in  the  man 
ger!  You  have  no  intention  of  marrying  her  your 
self.  Yet  you  don't  want  any  one  else  to  marry  her. 
Isn't  it  tremendously  appropriate  that  she  happens  to 
own  an  orange-grove  ?  Orange-blossoms  always  ready." 

"  Contemporary  ?"  Etheridge  repeated,  going  back 
to  the  word  that  had  startled  him. 


323 


"  Yes.  Haven't  you  noticed  how  vividly  contem 
porary  young  fellows  of  Walter's  type  are  ?  They 
have  no  fixed  habits ;  for  fixed  habits  are  founded 
in  retrospect,  and  they  never  indulge  in  retrospect. 
Anything  that  happened  last  week  seems  to  them 
old ;  last  year,  antediluvian.  They  live  in  the  mo 
ment,  with  an  outlook  only  towards  the  future.  This 
makes  them  very  '  actual '  wooers.  As  my  brother- 
in-law  would  phrase  it,  they  are  '  all  there  !'  " 

"  Nonsense  1"  said  Etheridge.  But  as  he  went 
home  to  his  own  quarters  (to  take  a  nap  so  as  to  be 
fresh  for  the  evening),  he  turned  over  in  his  thoughts 
that  word  "  contemporary  !"  And  he  made  up  his 
mind  that  from  that  hour  he  would  mention  no  event 
which  had  occurred  more  than  one  year  before ;  he 
would  tell  no  story  which  dated  back  beyond  the 
same  period  of  time  ;  he  would  read  only  the  young 
er  authors  (whom  he  loathed  without  exception) ;  he 
would  not  permit  himself  to  prefer  any  particular 
walking-stick,  any  especial  chair.  At  the  club  he 
would  play  euchre  instead  of  whist ;  and  if  there  was 
any  other  even  more  confoundedly  modern  and  vul 
gar  game,  he  would  play  that.  Habits,  indeed? 
Stuff  and  nonsense ! 

Left  alone,  Dolly  went  upstairs  a  second  time. 
But  Ruth's  door  was  now  locked.  The  elder  sister 
came  back  therefore  to  the  drawing-room.  Her  face 
was  anxious. 

She  banished  the  expression,  however,  when  she 
heard  her  brother-in-law's  step  in  the  hall ;  a  mo- 


324 


ment  later  Horace  Chase  entered,  his  hands  full  of 
letters,  and  newspapers  piled  on  his  arm  ;  he  had 
come  from  the  post-office,  where  the  afternoon  mail 
had  just  been  distributed.  "  AVhere  is  Ruth  ?  Still 
asleep  ?"  he  asked. 

"  I  think  not ;  I  heard  Felicite's  voice  speaking  to 
her  just  now,  when  I  was  upstairs,"  Dolly  answered. 

"They're  taking  another  look  at  that  new  frock," 
Chase  suggested,  jocosely,  as  he  seated  himself  to 
reread  his  correspondence  (for  he  had  already 
glanced  through  each  letter  in  the  street).  "Where 
is  Hill  ?"  he  went  on  rather  vaguely,  his  attention 
already  attracted  by  something  in  the  first  of  these 
communications. 

"  He  came  in,  after  the  welcoming  ceremonies,  red 
in  the  face  from  chasing  Mrs.  Kip.  And  the  com 
modore  appeared  a  moment  later,  also  breathless, 
and  in  search  of  her.  But  Malachi  was  selected  to 
walk  home  with  the  fair  creature.  And  then  the 
commodore  trampled  on  Florida,  and  talked  of  the 
Green  Mountains." 

Dolly's  tone  was  good-natured.  But  beneath  this 
good-nature  Chase  fancied  that  there  was  jealousy. 
"  Eh — what's  that  you  say  ?"  he  responded,  bringing 
out  his  words  slowly,  while  he  bestowed  one  more 
thought  upon  the  page  he  was  reading  before  he 
gave  her  his  full  attention.  "  The  little  Kip  ?  Well, 
Dolly,  she  is  a  very  sweet  little  woman,  isn't  she?" 
he  went  on,  reasonably,  as  if  trying  to  open  her  eyes 
gently  to  a  fact  that  was  undeniable.  "  But  I  didn't 


325 


know  that  Hill  had  a  fancy  in  that  quarter.  If  he 
has,  we  must  lend  him  a  hand." 

For  Chase  had  a  decided  liking  for  Malachi ;  the 
way  the  young  clergyman  had  carried  through  that 
rapid  journey  to  New  York  and  back,  after  Jared 
Franklin's  death,  had  won  his  regard  and  admiration. 
Malachi  had  not  stopped  at  Salisbury ;  his  train  went 
no  farther,  but  he  had  succeeded  in  getting  a  loco 
motive,  by  means  of  which,  travelling  on  all  night,  he 
had  made  a  connection  and  reached  New  York  in 
time  after  all  to  meet  Ruth's  steamer.  As  it  came  in, 
there  he  was  on  the  dock,  dishevelled  and  hungry, 
but  there. 

And  then  when  Ruth,  frenzied  by  the  tidings  he 
brought  (for  it  really  seemed  to  him  almost  frenzy), 
had  insisted  upon  starting  on  her  journey  to  L'llomme- 
dieu  without  an  instant's  delay,  he  had  taken  her, 
with  Felicite,  southward  again  as  rapidly  as  the 
trains  could  carry  them.  His  money  was  exhausted, 
but  he  did  not  stop  ;  he  travelled  on  credit,  pledging 
his  watch ;  it  was  because  he  had  no  money  that  he 
had  not  telegraphed.  At  Old  Fort  he  procured  a 
horse  and  light  wagon,  also  on  trust,  and  though  he 
had  already  spent  four  nights  without  sleep,  he  did 
not  stop,  but  drove  Ruth  across  the  mountains  in  the 
darkness  on  a  sharp  trot,  with  the  utmost  skill  and 
daring,  leaving  Felicite  to  follow  by  stage.  The  sum 
which  Chase  had  placed  in  the  envelope  with  the 
ticket  had  been  intended  merely  for  his  own  ex 
penses;  the  additional  amount  which  was  now  re- 


326 


quired  for  Ruth  and  her  maid  soon  exhausted  it, 
together  with  all  that  he  had  with  him  of  his  own. 
Ruth's  state  of  tension  —  for  she  was  dumb,  white, 
and  strange — had  filled  him  with  the  deepest  appre 
hension;  she  did  not  think  of  money,  and  he  could 
not  bear  to  speak  to  her  of  it.  Such  a  contingency 
had  not  occurred  to  Chase,  who  knew  that  his  wife 
had  with  her  more  money  than  the  cost  of  half  a 
dozen  such  journeys ;  for  her  purse  was  always  not 
only  full,  but  over-full ;  it  was  one  of  his  pleasures 
to  keep  it  so.  When,  afterwards,  he  learned  the 
facts  (from  Ruth  herself,  upon  questioning  her),  he 
went  off,  found  Malachi,  and  gave  him  what  he  called 
"  a  good  big  grip  "  of  the  hand.  "  You're  a  trump, 
Hill,  and  can  be  banked  on  every  time  !"  Since  then 
he  had  been  Malachi's  friend  and  advocate  on  all 
occasions,  even  to  the  present  one  of  endeavoring  to 
moderate  the  supposed  jealousy  of  his  sister-in-law 
regarding  Lilian  Kip. 

After  this  kindly  meant  attempt  of  his,  Dolly  did 
not  again  interrupt  him  ;  she  left  him  to  finish  his 
letters,  while  she  went  on  with  her  knitting  in  silence. 

Mrs.  Franklin's  prophecy,  that  Chase  would  end  by 
liking  Dolly  for  herself,  had  not  as  yet  come  true. 
Ruth's  husband  accepted  the  presence  of  his  wife's 
sister  under  his  roof;  as  she  was  an  invalid,  he  would 
not  have  been  contented  to  have  her  elsewhere. 
Dolly's  life  now  moved  on  amid  ease  and  comfort ; 
she  had  her  own  attendant,  who  was  partly  a  lady's- 
maid,  partly  a  nurse;  she  had  her  own  phaeton,  and, 


327 


when  in  New  York,  her  own  coupe.  If  she  was  to 
live  with  Ruth  at  all,  there  was.  indeed,  no  other  way ; 
she  could  not  do  her  own  sister  the  injustice  of  re 
maining  a  contrast,  a  jarring  note  by  her  side.  Chase 
was  invariably  kind  to  Dolly.  Nevertheless  Dolly 
knew  that  her  especial  combination  of  ill-health  and 
sarcasm  seemed  to  him  incongruous ;  she  could  de 
tect  in  his  mind  the  thought  that  it  was  odd  that  a 
woman  so  sickly,  with  the  added  misfortune  of  a 
plain  face,  should  not  at  least  try  to  be  amiable,  since 
it  was  the  only  role  she  could  properly  fill.  Her 
little  hostilities,  as  her  mother  had  called  them,  were 
now  necessarily  quiescent.  But  she  had  the  convic 
tion  that,  even  if  they  had  remained  active,  her  tall 
brother-in-law  would  not  have  minded  them;  he 
would  have  taken,  probably,  a  jocular  view  of  them ; 
and  of  herself  as  well. 

When  the  last  letter  was  finished,  and  she  saw  her 
companion  begin  on  his  newspapers,  she  spoke  again  : 
"  I  don't  think  Ruth  ought  to  go  to  that  reception 
to-night ;  she  is  not  well  enough." 

"  Why,  I  thought  it  was  nothing  but  a  very  slight 
cold,"  Chase  said,  turning  round,  surprised.  "She 
mustn't  think  of  going  if  she's  sick.  She  wants  to 
go  ;  she  telegraphed  for  that  dress." 

"Yes;  last  week.  But  that  was  before  —  before 
she  felt  ill.  If  she  goes  now,  it  will  be  only  because 
you  care  for  it." 

"  Oh,  shucks  !  /  care  for  it !  What  do  I  care  for 
that  sort  of  thing?  I'll  go  and  tell  her  to  give  the 


whole  right  up."  He  rose,  leaving  his  newspapers 
on  the  floor  (Chase  always  wanted  his  newspapers 
on  the  floor,  and  not  on  a  table),  arid  went  towards 
the  door.  But,  at  the  same  instant,  Ruth  herself 
came  in.  "  I  was  just  going  up  to  tell  you,  Ruthie, 
that  I  guess  we  won't  turn  out  to-night  after  all — I 
mean  to  that  show  at  the  Barracks.  I  reckon  they 
can  manage  without  us  ?" 

"  Oh,  but  I  want  to  see  it,"  said  Ruth.  "  If  you 
are  tired,  I  can  go  with  Mrs.  Kip." 

"Well,  who's  running  this  family,  anyway  ?"  Chase 
demanded,  going  back  to  his  seat,  not  ill -pleased, 
however,  that  Dolly  should  see  that  her  information 
concerning  her  sister  was  less  accurate  than  his  own. 
But  his  care  regarding  everything  that  was  connected 
with  his  wife  made  him  add,  "  You'll  give  it  up  if  I 
want  you  to,  Ruthie  ?" 

"  You  don't.  It's  Dolly !"  Ruth  declared.  "  Dolly- 
Dulcinea,  I  have  changed  my  mind.  I  did  not  want 
to  go  this  morning;  I  did  not  want  to  go  this  noon. 
But,  at  half-past  five  o'clock  precisely,  I  knew  that  I 
must  go  or  perish  !  Nothing  shall  keep  me  away." 
And,  gayly  waving  her  hand  to  her  sister,  she  went 
into  the  music-room,  which  opened  from  the  larger 
apartment,  and,  seating  herself  at  the  piano,  began 
to  play. 

Chase  returned  to  his  reading ;  his  only  comment 
to  Dolly  was,  "  She  seems  to  look  pretty  well."  And 
it  was  true  that  Ruth  looked  not  only  well,  but  brill 
iant.  After  a  while  they  heard  her  begin  to  sing: 


329 

"  My  short  and  happy  day  is  done ; 
The  long  and  dreary  night  comes  on ; 
And  at  my  door  the  Pale  Horse  stands, 
To  carry  me  to  unknown  lands. 

"His  whinny  shrill,  his  pawing  hoof, 
Sound  dreadful  as  a  gathering  storm  ; 
And  I  must  leave  this  sheltering  roof, 
And  joys  of  life  so  soft  and  warm." 

"  Don't  sing  that !"  called  Dolly,  sharply. 

"Why  not  let  her  do  as  she  likes?"  suggested 
Chase,  in  the  conciliatory  tone  he  often  adopted  with 
Dolly.  To  him  all  songs  were  the  same  ;  he  could 
not  tell  one  from  the  other. 

At  this  moment  Malachi  Hill  entered,  with  his 
arms  full  of  roses.  "  Long  stalks  ?"  said  Ruth,  hur 
rying  to  meet  him.  "  Lovely  !  Now  you  shall  help 
me  make  my  posy.  What  shall  I  bring  home  for  you 
in  my  pocket,  Mr.  Hill  ?  Ice-cream?" 

"  Well,  the  truth  is  I  am  thinking  of  going  ray- 
self,"  answered  Malachi,  coloring  a  little.  "  It  has 
been  mentioned  to  me  that  I  ought  to  go — as  a  repre 
sentative  of  the  clergy.  It  is  not  in  the  least  a  ball, 
they  tell  me ;  it  is  a  reception — a  reception  to  Gen 
eral  Grant.  The  young  people  may  perhaps  dance  a 
little  ;  but  not  until  after  the  general's  departure." 

"  Capital  idea,"  said  Chase,  adding  a  fourth  to  his 
pile  of  perused  sheets  on  the  floor.  "  And  don't  go 
back  on  us,  Hill,  by  proposing  to  escort  some  one 
else.  Ruth  wants  to  make  an  impression  on  the  gen 
eral,  and,  three  abreast,  perhaps  we  can  do  it." 


330 


Suddenly  Ruth  went  to  her  sister.  "  Dolly,  you 
must  go  too.  Now  don't  say  a  word.  You  can  go 
early  and  have  a  good  seat ;  and  as  to  dress,  you  can 
wear  your  opera-cloak." 

«  Oh  no — "  began  Dolly. 

But  Ruth  stopped  her.  "  You  must.  I  want  you 
to  see  me  there." 

"  Well,  who's  conceited,  I'd  like  to  know  ?"  com 
mented  Chase,  as  he  read  on. 

But  Ruth's  face  wore  no  expression  of  conceit ;  its 
expression  was  that  of  determination.  AVith  infinite 
relief  Dolly  saw  this.  "  I'll  go,"  she  said,  compre 
hending  Ruth's  wish. 

The  reception  was  given  by  a  West  Point  comrade 
of  General  Grant's,  who  happened  to  be  spending  the 
winter  in  Florida.  As  he  had  left  the  army  many 
years  before,  he  was  now  a  civilian,  and  the  partici 
pation  of  St.  Francis  Barracks  in  the  affair  was  there 
fore  accidental,  not  official.  For  the  civilian,  being 
a  man  of  wealth,  had  erected  for  the  occasion  a  tem 
porary  hall  or  ball-room,  and  had  connected  it  by  a 
covered  passage  with  the  apartments  of  his  brother, 
who  was  an  artillery  officer,  stationed  that  winter  at 
this  old  Spanish  post.  At  ten  o'clock,  this  impro 
vised  hall  presented  a  gay  appearance,  owing  to  the 
flowers  with  which  it  was  profusely  decorated,  to 
the  full  dress  of  the  ladies,  and  to  the  uniforms; 
for  the  army  had  been  reinforced  by  a  contingent 
from  the  navy,  as  two  vessels  belonging  to  the  Coast 
Survey  were  in  port. 


331 


The  reticent  personage  to  whom  all  this  homage 
was  offered  looked  as  if  he  would  like  to  get  rid  of 
it  on  any  terms.  He  had  commanded  great  armies, 
he  had  won  great  battles,  and  that  seemed  to  him 
easy  enough.  But  to  stand  and  have  his  hand  shaken 
— this  was  an  ordeal ! 

A  lane  had  been  kept  open  through  the  centre  of 
the  long  room  in  order  to  facilitate  the  presentations. 
At  half-past  ten,  coming  in  his  turn  up  this  avenue, 
the  tall  figure  of  Horace  Chase  could  be  seen  ;  his  wife 
was  with  him,  and  they  were  preceded  by  the  Rev. 
Malachi  Hill.  Chase,  inwardly  amused  by  the  cere 
mony,  advanced  towards  Grant  with  his  face  very  sol 
emn.  But  for  the  moment  no  one  looked  at  him ;  all 
eyes  were  turned  towards  the  figure  by  his  side. 

Half  an  hour  earlier,  as  he  sat  alone  in  his  drawing- 
room,  waiting  (and  reading  another  newspaper  to  pass 
away  the  time),  Ruth  had  come  to  him.  As  he  heard 
her  enter,  he  had  looked  up  with  a  smile.  Then  his 
face  altered  a  little. 

"  What !  no  diamonds  ?"  he  said. 

Ruth  wore  the  new  dress  about  which  he  had  joked, 
but  no  ornaments  save  a  string  of  pearls. 

"  It  shall  be  just  as  you  like,"  she  answered,  in  a 
steady  voice. 

"  Oh  no,  Ruthie  ;  just  as  you  like." 

He  admired  diamonds,  and  now  that  she  was  near 
ly  twenty-three,  he  had  said  to  himself  that  even  her 
mother,  if  she  had  lived,  would  no  longer  have  ob 
jected  to  her  wearing  them.  He  had  therefore  bought 


332 


for  her  recently  a  superb  necklace,  bracelets,  and 
other  ornaments,  and  he  had  pleased  himself  with  the 
thought  that  for  this  official  occasion  they  would  be 
entirely  appropriate.  Ruth,  reading  his  disappoint 
ment  in  his  eyes,  went  out,  and  returned  a  few  min 
utes  later  adorned  with  all  his  gifts  to  the  very  last 
stone.  And  now,  as  she  came  up  the  lane  in  the 
centre  of  the  crowded  room,  the  gems  gleamed  and 
flashed,  gleamed  on  her  neck,  on  her  arms,  in  her 
hair,  and  in  the  filmy  lace  of  her  dress.  Always  tall, 
she  had  grown  more  womanly,  and  she  could  there 
fore  bear  the  splendor.  To-night,  in  addition,  her 
own  face  was  striking,  for  her  color  had  returned, 
and  her  extraordinarily  beautiful  eyes  were  at  their 
best — lustrous  and  profound.  It  had  always  been  said 
of  Ruth  that  her  beauty  came  and  went.  To-night  it 
had  certainly  come,  and  to  such  a  degree  that  it 
spurred  Etheridge  to  the  exclamation,  in  an  undertone  : 

"  Too  many  diamonds.  But,  by  George,  she 
shines  them  down !" 

After  the  presentation  was  over  Chase  stepped 
aside,  and,  with  his  wife,  joined  Dolly.  Dolly  had 
a  very  good  place  ;  draped  in  her  opera-cloak,  which 
was  made  of  a  rich  Oriental  fabric,  she  looked  odd, 
ugly,  and  distinguished. 

"  Everybody  is  here  except  the  Barclays,"  Ether 
idge  announced.  "  There  can't  be  a  soul  left  in  any 
of  the  hotels.  And  all  the  negroes  in  town  are  on 
the  sea-wall  outside,  ready  to  hurrah  when  the  great 
man  drives  away." 


333 


"  Here's  Walter.  He  is  coming  this  way — he  is 
looking  for  us"  said  Chase.  "  How  are  you,  Walter?" 

"  Mrs.  Chase  !  Delighted  to  meet  you  again," 
said  Willoughby,  shaking  hands  with  Ruth  with  the 
utmost  cordiality. 

"  My  sister  is  here  also,"  Ruth  answered,  moving 
aside  so  that  he  could  see  Dolly.  And  then  Walter 
greeted  Miss  Franklin  with  the  same  extreme  hearti 
ness. 

"  Bless  my  soul,  what  enthusiasm !"  commented 
Etheridge.  "  One  would  suppose  that  you  had  not 
met  for  years." 

"And  we  haven't,"  said  Ruth,  surveying  Walter, 
coolly.  "  Mr.  Willoughby  has  changed.  He  has  a 
sort  of  Chinese  air." 

"  Willoughby  has  been  living  in  California  for 
two  years,  commodore;  didn't  you  know  that?" 
Chase  explained,  inwardly  enjoying  his  wife's  sally. 
"Tve  been  to  California  four  times  since  then.  But  as 
he  hasn't  been  east,  the  ladies  have  lost  sight  of  him." 

"Are  you  returning  to  the  Pacific  ?"  Etheridge 
inquired  of  the  younger  man,  "  so  as  to  look  more 
Chinese  still  ?" 

"The  Celestial  air  I  have  already  caught  will  have 
to  do,"  Walter  answered,  laughing.  "  California 
is  a  wonderfully  fascinating  country.  But  I  am  not 
going  back  ;  the  business  which  took  me  there  is 
concluded." 

Horace  Chase  smiled,  detecting  the  triumph  under 
these  words.  For  his  Pacific -coast  enterprise  had 


334 


been  highly  successful,  and  Walter  had  carried  out 
his  part  of  it  with  great  energy  and  intelligence,  and 
had  profited  accordingly.  That  particular  partner 
ship  was  now  dissolved. 

When  the  dancing  began,  Ruth  declined  her  invi 
tations.  "  It  isn't  necessary  to  stay  any  longer,  is 
it  ?"  Dolly  suggested  in  a  low  tone.  "  The  carriage 
is  probably  waiting." 

Here  Chase,  who  had  left  them  twenty  minutes 
before,  came  up.  "  I've  been  seeing  the  general 
off,"  he  said.  "  Well — he  appeared  middling  glad 
to  go !  No  dancing,  Ruthie  ?"  For  he  always  re 
membered  the  things  that  amused  his  wife,  and 
dancing,  he  knew,  was  high  on  her  list. 

And  then,  with  that  overtouch  which  it  is  so  often 
the  fate  of  an  elder  sister  to  bestow,  Dolly  said,  "  I 
really  think  she  had  better  not  try  it.  She  is  not 
thoroughly  strong  yet — after  her  cold." 

This  second  assertion  of  a  knowledge  superior  to 
his  own  annoyed  Chase.  And  Ruth  perceived  it. 
"  I  am  perfectly  well,"  she  answered.  And,  accept 
ing  the  next  invitation,  she  began  to  dance.  She 
danced  with  everybody.  Walter  Willoughby  had  his 
turn  with  the  rest. 

A  week  later,  Chase,  coming  home  at  sunset, 
looked  into  the  drawing  -  room.  His  wife  was  not 
there,  and  he  went  upstairs  in  search  of  her.  He 
found  her  in  her  dressing-room,  with  a  work-basket 
by  her  side.  "  Well !  I've  never  seen  you  sew  be 
fore,"  he  declared,  amused  by  this  new  industry. 


335 

"  I've  had  letters  that  make  it  necessary  for  me  to 
go  north,  Ruthie.  You'll  be  all  right  here,  with 
Doll}7,  won't  you  ?"  He  had  seated  himself,  and  was 
now  glancing  over  a  letter. 

"  Don't  go,"  said  Ruth,  abruptly.  And  she  went 
on  sewing  with  her  unnecessarily  strong  stitches ;  her 
mother  had  been  wont  to  say  of  her  that,  if  she  sewed 
at  all,  the  results  were  like  iron. 

Petie  Trone,  Esq.,  aged  but  still  pretty,  had  been 
reposing  on  the  lounge  by  her  side.  But  the  mo 
ment  Chase  seated  himself,  the  little  patriarch  had 
jumped  down,  gone  over,  and  climbed  confidently 
up  to  his  knees,  where,  after  turning  round  three 
times,  he  had  finally  settled  himself  curled  up  like 
a  black  ball,  with  his  nose  on  his  tail. 

"  Oh,  I  must,"  Chase  answered.  "  There's  some 
thing  I've  got  to  attend  to."  And  he  continued  to 
study  the  letter. 

"Take  me  with  you,  then,"  said  Ruth,  going  on 
with  her  rocklike  seam. 

"  What's  that  ?  Take  you  ?"  her  husband  respond 
ed,  still  absorbed.  "  Not  this  time,  I  guess.  For 
I'm  going  straight  through  to  Chicago.  It  would 
tire  you." 

"  No ;  I  should  like  it ;  I  don't  want  to  stay  here." 
She  put  down  her  work ;  going  to  one  of  the  tables, 
she  stood  there  with  her  back  towards  him,  turning 
things  over,  but  hardly  as  though  she  perceived  what 
they  were.  Chase  finished  his  letter.  Then,  as  he 
replaced  it  in  his  pocket,  he  saw  that  she  had  risen, 


and,  depositing  Mr.  Trone  on  the  lounge,  he  went  to 
her  and  put  his  arm  round  her  shoulders. 

"  I'd  take  you  if  I  could,  Rutliie,"  he  said,  indul 
gently,  beginning  a  reasonable  argument  with  her. 
"  But  my  getting  to  Chicago  by  a  certain  date  is  im 
perative,  and  to  do  it  I've  got  to  catch  to-night's 
train  and  go  through,  and  that  would  be  too  hard 
travelling  for  you.  Besides,  you  would  lose  all  the 
benefit  of  your  Southern  winter  if  you  should  hurry 
north  now,  while  it  is  still  so  cold ;  that  is  always  a 
mistake — to  go  north  too  early.  Your  winter  here 
has  done  you  lots  of  good,  and  that's  a  great  pleas 
ure  to  me.  I  want  to  be  proud  of  you  next  summer 
at  Newport,  you  know."  And  he  pinched  her  cheek. 

Ruth  turned  and  looked  at  him.  "Are  you  proud 
of  me  ?" 

"  Oh  no  !"  answered  Chase,  laughing.  "  Not  atall !" 
Then,  after  a  moment,  he  went  on,  his  tone  altering. 
"  I  like  to  work  a  big  deal  through  ;  I'm  more  or  less 
proud  of  that,  I  reckon.  But  down  below  everything 
else,  Ruthie,  I  guess  my  biggest  pride  is  just — you." 
He  was  a  man  without  any  grace  in  speech.  But  cer 
tain  tones  of  his  voice  had  an  eloquence  of  their  own. 

Ruth  straightened  herself.  "  I  will  do  what  you 
wish.  I  will  stay  here — as  you  prefer  it.  And  you 
must  keep  on  being  proud  of  me.  You  must  be  proud 
of  me  always,  always" 

This  made  her  husband  laugh  a  second  time.  "  It's 
a  conceit  that's  come  to  stay,  Mrs.  Chase.  You  may 
put  your  money  on  it !" 


CHAPTER   XIX 

As  he  walked  down  the  sea-wall  to  his  hotel  after 
the  Grant  reception,  Walter  Willoughby  said  to  him 
self  that  Mrs.  Chase's  coldness  was  the  very  thing  he 
desired,  the  thing  he  had  been  hoping  for,  devoutly, 
for  more  than  two  years.  The  assertion  was  true- 
But  though  he  had  hoped,  he  had  hardly  expected 
that  her  indifference  would  have  become  so  com 
plete.  If  he  did  not  exactly  enjoy  it,  it  had  at  least 
the  advantage  of  leaving  him  perfectly  free.  For 
purposes  of  his  own  (purposes  which  had  nothing  to 
do  with  her),  he  had  found  it  convenient  to  come  to 
Florida  this  winter.  And  now  that  St.  Augustine 
was  reached,  these  same  private  purposes  made  him 
desire  to  remain  there  rather  longer  than  he  had  at 
first  intended.  After  the  Grant  reception  he  told 
himself  with  relief  that  there  was  now  no  reason, 
"  no  reason  on  earth,"  why  he  should  not  stay  as 
long  as  it  suited  him  to  do  so.  lie  therefore  re 
mained.  He  joined  in  the  amusements  of  the  little 
winter-colony,  the  riding,  driving,  sailing,  walking, 
and  fishing  parties  that  filled  the  lovely  days.  Un 
der  these  conditions  two  weeks  went  by..  Horace 
Chase  had  not  as  yet  returned ;  he  was  engaged  in 
one  of  those  bold  enterprises  of  a  speculative  nature 

22 


338 


which  he  called  "  a  little  operation  ;"  occasionally  he 
planned  and  carried  through  one  of  these  campaigns 
alone. 

On  the  last  night  of  this  second  week  Ruth  came' 
into  her  sister's  room.  It  was  one  o'clock,  but  Dolly 
was  awake  ;  the  moonlight,  penetrating  the  dark  cur 
tains,  showed  her  who  it  was.  "  Is  that  you,  Ruth?" 

"  Yes,"  Ruth  answered.  "  Dolly,  I  want  to  go 
away." 

Dolly  raised  herself,  quickly.  "  Whenever  you 
like,"  she  answered.  "  We  can  go  to-morrow  morn 
ing  by  the  first  train ;  they  can  pack  one  trunk,  and 
the  rest  can  be  sent  after  us.  I  shall  be  quite  well 
enough  to  go."  For  Dolly  had  been  in  bed  all  day, 
suffering  severely ;  it  was  the  only  day  for  two 
weeks  which  she  had  not  spent,  hour  by  hour,  with 
her  sister.  "  You  will  have  had  a  telegram  from  Mr. 
Chase,"  she  went  on  ;  "  we  can  say  that  as  explana 
tion." 

Ruth  turned  away.  She  left  the  details  to  her 
sister. 

"  Oh,  don't  go  off  and  shut  yourself  up.  Stay 
here  with  me,"  pleaded  Dolly,  entreatingly. 

"  I'd  rather  be  alone,"  Ruth  began.  But  her  voice 
broke.  "  No,  I'm  afraid  !  I  will  stay  here.  But 
you  mustn't  talk  to  me,  Dolly." 

"  Not  a  word,"  Dolly  responded  ;  "  if  you  will  tell 
me,  first,  where  you  have  been  ?" 

"  Oh,  only  at  Andalusia,  as  you  know,"  Ruth 
answered,  in  the  same  exhausted  tone.  "  It  isn't  very 


339 


late  ;  every  one  stayed  till  after  twelve.  And  I  came 
home  as  I  went ;  that  is,  with  Colonel  and  Mrs. 
Atherton  ;  they  left  me  just  now  at  the  door." 

"Alone?" 

"  No ;  with  Walter  Willoughby.  But  he  did  not 
come  in  ;  he  only  stood  there  on  the  steps  with  me 
for  a  moment ;  that's  all."  While  Ruth  was  saying 
this,  she  had  taken  off  her  hat  and  gloves  ;  then,  in 
the  dim  light,  Dolly  saw  her  sink  down  on  the 
divan,  and  lie  there,  motionless.  The  elder  sister 
crept  towards  her  on  the  outside  of  the  bed  (for 
the  divan  was  across  its  foot),  and  covered  her 
carefully  with  a  warm  shawl ;  then,  faithful  to  her 
promise,  she  returned  to  her  place  in  silence.  And 
neither  of  them  spoke  again. 

On  the  divan  Ruth  was  not  fighting  a  battle  ;  she 
had  given  up,  she  was  fleeing. 

When,  two  years  before,  absorbed  in  her  love  for 
Walter,  she  had  insisted  upon  that  long,  solitary 
voyage  northward  from  Charleston,  so  that  she  could 
give  herself  up  uninterruptedly  to  her  own  thoughts, 
alone  with  them  and  the  blue  sea,  the  tidings  which 
had  met  her  at  New  York  as  she  landed — the  tidings 
of  her  brother's  death  —  had  come  upon  her  almost 
like  a  blinding  shaft  of  lightning.  It  was  as  if  she, 
too,  had  died.  And  she  found  her  life  again  only 
partially,  as  she  went  southward  in  the  rushing 
trains,  as  she  crossed  the  mountains  in  the  wagon, 
and  arrived  by  night  at  dimly  lighted  L'Hommedieu. 
Sleepless  through  both  journeys — the  voyage  north- 


340 


ward  and  the  return  by  land  —  worn  out  by  the 
intense  emotions  which,  in  turn,  had  swept  over 
her,  she  had  reached  her  mother's  door  at  last  so 
exhausted  that  her  vital  powers  had  sunk  low. 
Then  it  was  that  the  gentle  care  of  the  man  who 
knew  nothing  of  the  truth  had  saved  her  —  saved 
her  from  the  dangerous  tension  of  her  own  excite 
ment,  and,  later,  from  a  death-like  faintness  which,  if 
prolonged,  would  have  been  her  end.  For  when  she 
beheld  the  changed,  drawn,  unconscious  face  of  her 
mother,  that  "  mother "  who  had  seemed  to  her  as 
much  a  fixed  part  of  her  life  as  her  own  breath,  her 
heart  had  failed  her,  failed  not  merely  in  the  com 
mon  meaning  of  the  phrase,  but  actually ;  its  pulsa 
tions  grew  so  weak  that  a  great  dread  seized  her 
—  the  instinctive  shrinking  of  her  whole  young 
being  from  the  touch  of  death.  In  her  terror,  she 
had  fled  to  her  husband,  she  had  taken  refuge  in 
his  boundless  kindness.  "  Oh,  I  am  dying,  Horace  ; 
I  must  be  dying  !  Save  me  !"  was  her  frightened 
cry. 

For  she  was  essentially  feminine.  In  her  charac 
ter,  the  womanhood,  the  sweet,  pure,  physical  wom 
anhood,  had  a  strong  part ;  it  had  not  been  refined 
away  by  over-development  of  the  mental  powers,  or 
reduced  to  a  subordinate  position  by  ascetic  sur 
roundings.  It  remained,  therefore,  what  nature  had 
made  it.  And  it  gave  her  a  great  charm.  But  its 
presence  left  small  place  for  the  more  masculine 
qualities,  for  stoical  fortitude  and  courage ;  she 


341 


could  not  face  fear ;  she  could  not  stand  alone  ;  and 
she  had  always,  besides,  the  need  to  be  cherished 
and  protected,  to  be  held  dear,  very  dear. 

This  return  to  her  husband  was  sincere  as  far  as  it 
carried  her.  From  one  point  of  view,  it  might  be 
said  that  she  had  never  left  him.  For  her  love  for 
Walter  had  contained  no  plan  ;  and  her  girlish  affec 
tion  for  Horace  Chase  remained  what  it  always  had 
been,  though  the  deeper  feelings  were  now  awake 
underneath. 

Time  passed  ;  the  days  grew  slowly  to  months, 
and  the  months  at  last  became  a  long  year,  and  then 
two.  Little  by  little  she  fell  back  into  her  old  ways  ; 
she  laughed  at  Dolly's  sallies,  she  talked  and  jested 
with  her  husband.  She  sometimes  asked  herself 
whether  those  buried  feelings  would  ever  rise  and 
take  possession  of  her  again.  But  Walter  remained 
absent  —  that  was  the  thing  that  saved  her.  A 
personal  presence  was  with  her  always  a  powerful 
influence.  But  an  absence  was  equally  powerful  in 
its  quieting  effect ;  it  produced  temporarily  more  or 
less  oblivion.  She  had  never  been  able  to  live  on 
memories.  And  she  had  a  great  desire  at  all  times 
to  be  happy.  And,  therefore,  to  a  certain  degree, 
she  did  become  happy  again ;  she  amused  herself 
with  fair  success  at  Newport  and  New  York. 

And  then  Walter  had  re-entered  the  circle  of  her 
life.  And  by  a  fatality  this  had  come  to  her  at  St. 
Augustine.  On  the  morning  of  the  day  of  the  Grant 
reception,  she  had  suddenly  learned  that  he  was  in 


342 


town.  And  she  knew  (it  came  like  a  wave  over  her) 
that  she  dreaded  the  meeting. 

There  had  been  no  spoken  confidences  between  the 
sisters.  But  Dolly  had  instantly  extended  all  the 
protection  that  was  in  her  power,  and  even  more  ; 
for  she  had  braved  the  displeasure  of  her  brother-in- 
law  by  maintaining  that  his  wife  was  ill,  and  that 
she  (Dolly)  knew  more  of  the  illness  than  he  did. 
And  then,  suddenly,  this  elder  sister  was  put  in  the 
wrong.  For  Ruth  herself  appeared,  declaring  gayly 
that  she  was  well,  perfectly  well.  The  gayety  was 
assumed.  But  the  declaration  that  she  was  well 
was  a  truthful  one  ;  she  was  not  only  well,  but  her 
heart  was  beating  with  excitement.  For  the  idea 
had  taken  possession  of  her  that  this  was  the  very 
opportunity  she  needed  to  prove  to  herself  (and  to 
Dolly  also)  that  she  was  changed,  that  she  was  calm 
and  indifferent.  And  it  would  be  a  triumph  also  to 
show  this  indifference  to  Walter.  Her  acts,  her 
words,  her  every  intonation  should  make  this  clear  to 
him  ;  delightfully,  coldly,  brilliantly  clear  ! 

Yet,  into  this  very  courage  had  come,  as  an  op 
posing  force,  that  vague  premonition  which  had 
made  her  suddenly  begin  to  sing  "  The  Stirrup 
Cup." 

But  a  mood  of  renewed  gayety  had  followed ;  she 
had  entered  the  improvised  ball-room  with  pulses 
beating  high,  sure  that  all  was  well. 

Before  the  evening  was  over  she  knew  that  all 
was  ill;  she  knew  that  at  the  bottom  of  everything 


343 


what  had  made  her  go  thither  was  simply  the  desire 
to  see  Walter  Willoughby  once  more. 

When,  a  few  days  later,  her  husband  told  her  that 
he  was  going  north,  with  one  of  her  sudden  impulses 
she  said,  "  Take  me  with  you."  He  had  not  con 
sented.  And  she  knew  that  she  was  glad  that  he 
had  not.  Certain  tones  of  his  voice,  however,  when 
he  spoke  of  his  pride  in  her,  had  touched  her  deeply  ; 
into  her  remembrance  came  the  thought  of  all  he  had 
done  for  her  mother,  all  he  had  done  for  Jared,  and 
she  strengthened  herself  anew  :  she  would  go  through 
with  it  and  he  should  know  nothing ;  he  should  re 
main  proud  of  her  always,  always. 

But  this  was  not  a  woman  who  could  go  on  un 
moved  seeing  daily  the  man  she  loved ;  those  buried 
feelings  rose  again  to  the  surface,  and  she  was  power 
less  to  resist  them.  All  she  could  do  (and  this  re 
quired  a  constant  effort)  was  to  keep  her  cold  man 
ner  unaltered. 

Walter,  meanwhile,  was  not  paying  much  heed  to 
Mrs.  Chase.  At  the  Grant  reception,  he  had  been 
piqued  by  her  sarcasms ;  he  had  smarted  under  the 
surprise  which  her  laughing  coolness  and  gayety  gave 
him.  But  this  vexation  soon  faded  ;  it  was,  after  all, 
nothing  compared  with  the  great  desire  which  he  had 
at  this  particular  moment  to  find  himself  entirely  free 
from  entanglements  of  that  nature.  He  was  there 
fore  glad  of  her  coldness.  He  continued  to  see  her 
often  ;  in  that  small  society  they  could  not  help  but 
meet.  And  occasionallv  he  asked  himself  if  there 


344 


was  nothing  underneath  this  glittering  frost  ?  No  least 
little  scrap  left  of  her  feeling  of  two  years  before  ? 
But,  engrossed  as  he  was  with  his  own  projects,  this 
curiosity  remained  dormant  until  suddenly  these  proj 
ects  went  astray;  they  encountered  an  obstacle  which 
for  the  time  being  made  it  impossible  for  him  to  pur 
sue  them  further.  This  happened  at  the  end  of  his 
second  week  in  St.  Augustine.  Foiled,  and  more  or 
less  irritated,  and  having  also  for  the  moment  nothing 
else  to  do,  he  felt  in  the  mood  to  solace  himself  a 
little  with  the  temporary  entertainment  of  finding  out 
(of  course  in  ways  that  would  be  unobserved  by 
others)  whether  there  was  or  was  not  anything  left 
of  the  caprice  which  the  millionaire's  pretty  wife 
had  certainly  felt  for  him  when  he  was  in  Florida 
before. 

For  that  was  his  idea  of  it — a  caprice.  He  saw 
only  one  side  of  Ruth's  nature  ;  to  him  she  seemed  a 
thoughtless,  spoiled  young  creature,  highly  impres 
sionable,  but  all  on  the  surface  ;  no  feeling  would  last 
long  with  her  or  be  very  deep,  though  for  the  mo 
ment  it  might  carry  her  away. 

What  he  did  was  so  little,  during  this  process  of 
finding  out,  and  what  he  said  was  so  even  less,  that 
if  related  it  would  not  have  made  a  narrative,  it 
would  have  been  nothing  to  tell.  But  the  woman 
he  was  studying  was  now  like  a  harp  :  the  lightest 
touch  of  his  hand  on  the  strings  drew  out  the 
music.  And  when,  therefore,  upon  that  last  night, 
taking  advantage  of  the  few  moments  he  had 


845 


with  her  alone  at  her  door,  after  her  friends  from 
the  Barracks  had  passed  on — when  he  then  said  a 
word  or  two,  to  her  it  was  fatal.  His  phrase  meant 
in  reality  nothing ;  it  was  tentative  only.  But 
Rath  had  no  suspicion  of  this ;  her  own  love  was 
direct,  uncomplicated,  and  overmastering ;  she  sup 
posed  that  his  was  the  same.  She  looked  at  him 
dumbly ;  then  she  turned,  entering  the  house  with 
rapid  step  and  hurrying  up  the  stairs,  leaving  the 
sleepy  servant  who  came  forward  to  meet  her  to 
close  the  door.  Fatal  had  his  words  been  to  her; 
fatally  sweet ! 

The  two  sisters  left  St.  Augustine  the  next  morn 
ing  ;  in  the  evening  they  were  far  down  the  St. 
John's  River  on  their  way  to  Savannah.  They  sat 
together  near  the  bow  of  the  steamer,  watching 
in  silence  the  windings  of  the  magnificent  stream  ; 
the  moonlight  was  so  bright  that  they  could  see  the 
silvery  long-moss  draping  the  live-oaks  on  shore,  and, 
in  the  tops  of  signal  cypresses,  bare  and  gaunt,  the 
huge  nests  of  the  fish-hawks,  like  fortifications. 

"  Poor  Chase  !  covering  her  with  diamonds,  and 
giving  her  everything  ;  while  I  can  turn  her  round 
my  finger!"  Walter  said  to  himself  when  he  heard 
they  had  gone. 

On  the  day  of  his  wife's  departure — that  sudden 
departure  from  St.  Augustine  of  which  he  as  yet 
knew  nothing,  Horace  Chase,  in  Chicago,  was  bring 
ing  to  a  close  his  "  little  operation  "  ;  by  six  o'clock, 
four  long-headed  men  had  discovered  that  they  had 


346 


been  tremendously  out-generalled.  Later  in  the  even 
ing,  three  of  these  men  happened  to  be  standing 
together  in  a  corridor  of  one  of  the  Chicago  hotels, 
when  the  successful  operator,  who  was  staying  in  the 
house,  came  by  chance  through  the  same  brightly 
lighted  passage-way. 

"I  guess  you  think,  Chase,  that  you've  got  the 
laugh  on  us,"  said  one  of  the  group.  "  But  just  wait 
a  month  or  two  ;  we'll  make  you  walk  !" 

"  Oh,  the  devil !"  answered  Chase,  passing  on. 

"  He's  as  hard  as  flint !"  said  the  second  of  the  dis 
comfited  trio,  who,  depressed  by  his  losses  (which  to 
him  meant  ruin),  had  a  lump  in  his  throat.  "There 
isn't  such  a  thing  as  an  ounce  of  feeling  in  Horace 
Chase's  whole  composition,  damn  him  !" 


CHAPTER  XX 

His  little  campaign  over,  Horace  Chase  made  his 
preparations  for  returning  to  Florida.  These  con 
sisted  in  hastily  throwing  into  a  valise  the  few 
things  which  he  had  brought  with  him,  and  ringing 
the  bell  to  have  a  carriage  called  so  that  he  could 
catch  the  midnight  train.  As  he  was  stepping  into 
this  carriage,  a  telegram  was  handed  to  him.  "  Hold 
on  a  minute,"  he  called  to  the  driver,  as  he  opened 
it.  "  We  are  on  our  way  to  Savannah,"  he  read.  "You 
will  find  us  at  the  Scriven  House.  Ruth  not  well." 
And  the  signature  was  "  Dora  Franklin."  "  Drive 
on,"  he  called  a  second  time,  and  as  the  carriage 
rolled  towards  the  station  he  said  to  himself,  "  That 
Dolly !  Always  trying  to  make  out  that  Ruth's  sick. 
I  guess  it's  only  that  she's  tired  of  Florida.  She 
wanted  to  leave  when  /  came  north ;  asked  me  to 
take  her." 

But  when  he  reached  Savannah,  he  found  his  wife 
if  not  ill,  at  least  much  altered ;  she  was  white 
and  silent,  she  scarcely  spoke ;  she  sat  hour  after 
hour  with  her  eyes  on  a  book,  though  the  pages 
were  not  turned.  "  She  isn't  well,"  Dolly  explained 
again. 

"  Then  we  must  have  in  the  doctors,"  Chase  an- 


348 


swered,  decisively.  "  I'll  get  the  best  advice  from 
New  York  immediately  ;  I'll  wire  at  once." 

"  Don't ;  it  would  only  bother  her,"  objected  Dol 
ly.  "  They  can  do  no  more  for  her  than  we  can,  for 
it  is  nothing  but  lack  of  strength.  Take  her  up  to 
L'Hommedieu,  and  let  her  stay  there  all  summer  ; 
that  will  be  the  best  thing  for  her,  by  far." 

"  That's  the  question  ;  will  it  ?"  remarked  Chase 
to  himself,  reflectively. 

"Do  I  know  her,  or  do  I  not  ?"  urged  Dolly.  "  I 
have  been  with  her  ever  since  she  was  born.  Trust 
me,  at  least  where  she  is  concerned ;  for  she  is  all  I 
have  left  in  the  world,  and  I  understand  her  every 
breath." 

"  Of  course  I  know  you  think  no  end  of  her," 
Chase  answered.  But  he  was  not  satisfied  ;  he  went 
to  Ruth  herself.  "Ruthie,  you  needn't  go  to  New 
port  this  summer,  if  you're  tired  of  it ;  you  can  go 
anywhere  you  like,  short  of  Europe  (for  I  can't  quite 
get  abroad  this  year).  There  are  all  sorts  of  first- 
rate  places,  I  hear,  along  the  coast  of  Maine." 

"  I  don't  care  where  I  go,"  Ruth  answered,  dully, 
"  except  that  I  want  to  be  far  away  from — from  the 
tiresome  people  we  usually  see." 

"  Well,  that  means  far  away  from  Newport,  doesn't 
it?  We've  been  there  for  two  summers,"  Chase  an 
swered,  helping  her  (as  he  thought)  to  find  out  what 
she  really  wanted.  "  Would  you  like  to  go  up  the 
lakes — to  Mackinac  and  Marquette  ?" 

"  No,  L'Hommedieu  would  do,  perhaps." 


349 


"  Yes,  Dolly's  plan.     Are  you  doing  it  for  her  ?" 

"  Oh,"  said  Ruth,  with  weary  truthfulness,  "  don't 
you  know  that  I  never  do  things  for  Dolly,  but  that 
it's  always  Dolly  who  does  things  for  me  ?" 

Her  husband  took  her  to  L'Hommedieu. 

She  seemed  glad  to  be  there ;  she  wandered  about 
and  looked  at  her  mother's  things ;  she  opened  her 
mother's  secretary  and  used  it ;  she  sat  in  her  moth 
er's  easy-chair,  and  read  her  books.  There  was  no 
jarring  element  at  hand  ;  Gcnevieve,  beneficent,  much 
admired,  and  well  off,  had  been  living  for  two  years 
in  St.  Louis;  her  North  Carolina  cottage  was  now 
occupied  by  Mrs.  Kip. 

Chase  had  the  inspiration  of  sending  for  Kentucky 
Belle,  and  after  a  while  Ruth  began  to  ride.  This 
did  her  more  good  than  anything  else  ;  every  day 
she  was  out  for  hours  among  the  mountains  with  her 
husband,  and  often  with  the  additional  escort  of  Mal- 
achi  Hill. 

One  morning  they  made  an  expedition  to  the  wild 
gorge  where  the  squirrel  had  received  his  freedom 
two  years  before ;  Ruth  dismounted,  and  walked 
about  under  the  trees,  looking  up  into  the  foliage. 

"  He's  booming ;  he's  got  what  he  likes,"  said 
Chase — "  your  Robert  the  Squirrel ;  or  Robert  the 
Devil,  as  Dolly  called  him." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  want  him  back,"  Ruth  answered  ;  "  I 
am  glad  he  is  free.  Every  one  ought  to  be  free,"  she 
went  on,  musingly,  as  though  stating  a  new  truth 
which  she  had  just  discovered. 


350 


"  I  came  out  nearly  every  week,  Mrs.  Chase,  during 
the  first  six  months,  with  nuts  for  him,"  said  Malachi, 
comfortingly.  "  I  used  to  bring  at  least  a  quart,  and 
I  put  them  in  a  particular  place.  Well  —  they  were 
always  gone." 

As  they  came  down  a  flank  of  the  mountain  over 
looking  the  village,  Chase  surveyed  the  valley  with 
critical  eyes.  "  If  we  really  decide  to  take  this  thing 
up  at  last — Nick  and  Richard  Willoughby,  and  my 
self,  arid  one  or  two  more — my  own  idea  would  be  to 
have  a  grand  combine  of  all  the  advantages  possible," 
he  began.  "  In  the  United  States  we  don't  do  this 
thing  up  half  so  completely  as  they  do  abroad.  Over 
there,  if  they  have  mountains — as  in  Switzerland,  for 
instance — they  don't  trust  to  that  alone,  they  don't 
leave  people  to  sit  and  stare  at  'em  all  day  ;  they  add 
other  attractions.  They  have  boys  with  horns,  where 
there  happen  to  be  echoes  ;  they  illuminate  the  water 
falls  ;  girls  dressed  up  in  costumes  milk  cows  in  ar 
bors  ;  and  men  with  flowers  and  other  things  stuck 
in  their  hats,  yodel  and  sing.  All  sorts  of  carved 
things,  too,  are  constantly  offered  for  sale,  such  as 
salad-forks,  paper-cutters/  and  cuckoo  clocks.  Then, 
if  it  isn't  mountains,  but  springs,  they  always  have 
the  very  best  music  they  can  get,  to  make  the  water 
go  down.  It  would  be  a  smart  thing  to  have  the  sul 
phur  near  here  brought  into  town  in  pipes  to  a  sort 
of  park,  where  we  could  have  a  casino  with  a  hall  for 
dancing,  and  a  restaurant  where  you  could  always  get 
a  first-class  meal.  And,  outside,  a  stand  for  the  band. 


351 


And  then  in  the  park  there  ought  to  be,  without  fail, 
long  rows  of  bright  little  stores  for  the  ladies — like 
those  at  Baden-Baden,  Ruthie  ?  No  large  articles 
sold,  but  a  great  variety  of  small  things.  Ladies  al 
ways  like  that ;  they  can  drink  the  water,  listen  to 
the  music,  and  yet  go  shopping  too,  and  buy  all  sorts 
of  little  knick-knacks  to  take  home  as  presents ;  it 
would  be  extremely  popular.  The  North  Carolina 
garnets  and  amethysts  could  be  sold ;  and  specimens 
of  the  mica  and  gold  and  the  native  pink  marble 
could  be  exhibited.  Then  those  Cherokee  Indians 
out  Qualla  way  might  be  encouraged  to  come  to  the 
park  with  their  baskets  and  bead-work  to  sell.  And 
there  must  be,  of  course,  a  museum  of  curiosities, 
stuffed  animals,  and  mummies,  and  sucli  things. 
There's  a  museum  opposite  that  lion  cut  in  the  rock 
at  Lucerne  Hill — I  guess  you've  heard  of  it?  It  at 
tracts  more  interest  than  the  lion  himself;  I've 
watched,  and  I  know ;  ten  out  of  twelve  of  the  peo 
ple  who  come  there,  look  two  minutes  at  the  lion,  and 
give  ten  at  least  to  the  museum.  Then  it  wouldn't 
be  a  half-bad  idea  to  get  hold  of  an  eminent  doctor ; 
we  might  make  him  a  present  of  half  a  mountain  as  an 
inducement.  Larue,  by  the  way,  won't  be  of  much  use 
to  our  boom,  now  that  he  isn't  a  senator  any  longer. 
Did  they  kick  him  out,  Hill,  or  freeze  him  out?" 

"  Well — he  resigned,"  answered  Malachi,  diplomat 
ically.  "  You  see,  they  wanted  the  present  senator — 
a  man  who  has  far  more  magnetism." 

"Larue  never  was  'in   it';  I  saw  that  from  the 


352 


first,"  Chase  commented..  "Well,  then,  in  addition, 
there  must,  of  course,  be  a  hospital  in  the  town,  so 
that  the  ladies  can  get  up  fairs  for  it  each  year  at  the 
height  of  the  season;  they  find  the  greatest  interest 
in  fairs ;  I've  often  noticed  it.  Then  I  should  give 
my  vote  for  a  good  race-course.  And,  finally,  all  the 
churches  ought  to  be  put  in  tip-top  condition — paint 
ed  and  papered  and  made  more  attractive.  But  that, 
Hill,  we'll  leave  to  you." 

Malachi  laughed.  He  admired  Horace  Chase 
greatly,  but  he  had  long  ago  despaired  of  making 
him  pay  heed  to  certain  distinctions.  "  I  think  I 
won't  meddle  with  the  other  churches  if  you  will 
only  help  along  ours,"  he  answered ;  "  our  Church 
school  here,  and  my  mountain  missions." 

"  All  right ;  we'll  boom  them  all,"  said  Chase,  lib 
erally.  "  There  might  be  a  statue  of  Daniel  Boom 
in  the  park,  near  the  casino,"  he  went  on  in  a  con 
sidering  tone  ;  "  he  lived  near  here  for  some  time. 
Though,  come  to  think  of  it,  his  name  was  Boone, 
wasn't  it  ? — just  missed  being  appropriate!  Well, 
at  any  rate,  we  can  have  a  statue  of  Colonel  David 
Vance,  and  of  Dr.  Mitchell,  who  is  buried  on  Mitch 
ell's  Peak.  And  of  David  L.  Swain." 

"  Have  you  any  especial  sculptor  in  view  ?"  in 
quired  Malachi,  who  was  not  without  a  slight  knowl 
edge  of  art. 

"No.  But  we  could  get  a  good  marble-cutter  to 
take  a  contract  for  the  lot ;  that  would  be  the  easiest 
way,  I  reckon." 


353 


Malachi  could  not  help  being  glad,  revengefully 
glad,  that  at  least  there  was  no  mention  of  Maud 
Muriel.  Only  the  day  before  the  sculptress  had 
greeted  him  with  her  low-breathed  "  Manikin  !"  as 
he  came  upon  her  in  a  narrow  winding  lane  which 
he  had  incautiously  entered.  A  man  may  be  as 
dauntless  as  possible  (so  he  told  himself),  but  that 
does  not  help  him  when  his  assailant  is  a  person 
whom  he  cannot  knock  down — "  a  striding,  scorn 
ful,  sculping  spinster  !"  "  She  had  better  look  out !" 
he  had  thought,  angrily,  as  he  passed  on. 

His  morning  ride  over,  Chase  took  a  fresh  horse 
after  lunch,  and  went  down  to  Crumb's.  Nicholas 
Willoughby,  struck  by  the  wildness  and  beauty  of 
these  North  Carolina  mountains,  had  built  a  cottage 
on  the  high  plateau  above  Crumb's,  the  plateau 
which  Chase  had  named  "  Ruth's  Terrace  "  several 
years  before.  During  the  preceding  summer,  Nich 
olas  had  occupied  this  house  (which  he  called  The 
Lodge)  for  a  month  or  more.  This  year,  having 
lent  it  to  some  friends  for  August  and  September, 
he  had  asked  Chase  to  see  that  all  was  in  order  be 
fore  their  arrival. 

While  Chase  was  off  upon  this  errand,  Ruth  and 
Dolly  were  to  go  for  a  drive  along  the  Swannanoa. 
But  first  Dolly  stopped  at  Miss  Mackintosh's  barn;  her 
latest  work  was  on  exhibition  there.  This  was  noth 
ing  less  than  a  colossal  study  in  clay  of  the  sculptress's 
own  back  from  the  nape  of  the  neck  to  the  waist; 
Dolly,  who  had  already  had  a  view  of  this  master- 

23 


351 


piece,  was  now  bringing  Ruth  to  see  it,  with  the  hope 
that  it  would  make  her  laugh.  It  did.  Her  old  mirth 
came  back  for  several  minutes  as  she  gazed  at  the  rig 
idly  faithful  copy  of  Maud  Muriel's  shoulder-blades, 
her  broad,  gaunt  shoulders,  and  the  endless  line  of 
conscientiously  done  vertebrae  adorning  her  spine. 

Mrs.  Kip  was  there,  also  looking.  "  Maud  Muriel, 
how  could  you  see  your  back  ?"  she  inquired. 

"  Hand-glass,"  replied  the  sculptress,  briefly. 

"  Well,  to  me  it  looks  hardly  proper,"  commented 
Mrs.  Kip  ;  "  it's  so — exposed.  And  then,  without  any 
head  or  arms,  it  seems  so  mutilated ;  like  some  aw 
ful  thing  from  a  battle-field  !  I  don't  think  it's  nec 
essary  for  lady  artists  to  study  anatomy,  Maud  Mu 
riel  ;  it  isn't  expected  of  them  ;  it  doesn't  seem  quite 
feminine.  Why  don't  you  carve  angels  ?  They  have 
no  anatomy,  and,  of  course,  they  need  none.  An 
gels,  little  children,  and  flowers — I  think  those  are 
the  most  appropriate  subjects  for  lady  artists,  both 
in  sculpture  and  in  painting."  Then,  seeing  Maud 
Muriel  begin  to  snort  (as  Dolly  called  the  dilation  of 
the  sculptress's  nostrils  when  she  was  angry),  Mrs. 
Kip  hurried  on,  changing  the  subject  as  she  went. 
"  But  sculpture  certainly  agrees  with  you,  Maudie 
dear.  I  really  think  your  splendid  hair  grows  thick 
er  and  thicker !  You  could  always  earn  your  living 
(if  you  had  occasion)  by  just  having  yourself  pho 
tographed,  back -view,  with  your  hair  down,  and  a 
placard  —  '.Results  of  Barry's  Tricopherus.'  Barry 
would  give  anything  to  get  you." 


355 


Maud  Muriel  was  not  without  humor,  after  her 
curt  fashion.  "  Well,  Lilian,"  she  answered,  "  you 
might  be  '  Results  of  Packer's  Granulated  Food,'  I'm 
sure.  You  look  exactly  like  one  of  the  prize  health- 
babies." 

"  Oh  no !"  cried  Mrs.  Kip,  in  terror,  "  I'm  not  at 
all  well,  Maud  Muriel.  Don't  tell  me  so,  or  I  shall 
be  ill  directly  !  Neither  Evangeline  Taylor  nor  I  are 
in  the  least  robust ;  we  are  both  pulmonic." 

At  this  moment  Evangeline  herself  appeared  at 
the  door,  accompanied  by  her  inseparable  Miss 
Green,  a  personage  who  was  the  pride  of  Mrs.  Kip's 
existence.  This  was  not  for  what  she  was,  but  for 
her  title :  "  Evangeline  Taylor  and  her  governess  " 
— this  to  Mrs.  Kip  seemed  almost  royal.  She  now 
hurried  forward  to  meet  her  child,  and,  taking  her 
arm,  led  her  away  from  the  torso  to  the  far  end  of 
the  barn,  where  two  new  busts  were  standing  on  a 
table,  one  of  them  the  likeness  of  a  short-nosed,  bel 
ligerent  boy,  and  the  other  of  a  dreary,  sickly  woman. 
"  Come  and  look  at  these  sweet  things,  darling." 

And  then  Ruth  broke  into  a  second  laugh. 

"  Mrs.  Chase,"  said  Maud  Muriel,  suddenly,  "  I 
wish  you  would  sit  to  me." 

"  No.  Ask  her  husband  to  sit,"  suggested  Dolly. 
"  You  know  you  like  to  do  men  best,  Maud  Muriel." 

"  Well,  generally  speaking,  the  outlines  of  a  man's 
face  are  more  distinct,"  the  sculptress  admitted. 
"  And  yet,  Dolly,  it  doesn't  always  follow.  For, 
generally  speaking,  women — " 


856 


"  Maud  Muriel,  I  am  never  generally  speaking, 
but  always  particularly,"  Dolly  declared.  "  Do  Mr. 
Chase.  He  will  come  like  a  shot  if  you  will  smoke 
your  pipe  ;  he  has  been  dying  to  see  you  do  it  for 
three  years. 

"  I  have  given  up  the  pipe  ;  I  have  cigars  now," 
explained  Maud,  gravely.  "  But  I  do  not  smoke 
here  ;  I  take  a  walk  with  a  cigar  on  dark  nights — " 

"  Sh  !  Don't  talk  about  it  now,"  interrupted  Mrs. 
Kip,  warningly.  For  Evangeline  Taylor,  having  ex 
tracted  all  she  could  from  the  "  sweet  things,"  was 
coming  towards  them.  There  was  a  good  deal  to 
come.  Her  height  was  now  six  feet  and  an  inch. 
Her  long,  rigid  face  wore  an  expression  which  she 
intended  to  be  one  of  deep  interest  in  the  works  of 
art  displayed  before  her ;  but  as  she  was  more  shy 
than  ever,  her  eyes,  as  she  approached  the  group,  had 
a  suppressed  nervous  gleam  which,  with  her  strange 
facial  tension,  made  her  look  half-mad. 

"  Dear  child  !"  said  the  mother,  fondly,  as  Ruth, 
to  whom  the  poor  young  giant  was  passionately  de 
voted,  made  her  happy  by  taking  her  off  and  talking 
to  her  kindly,  apart.  "  She  has  the  true  Taylor  eyes. 
So  profound  !  And  yet  so  dove-like  !"  Here  the 
head  of  Achilles  Larue  appeared  at  the  open  door, 
and  Lilian  abandoned  the  Taylor  eyes  to  whisper 
quickly,  "  Oh,  Maud  Muriel,  do  cover  that  dreadful 
thing  up  !" 

"  Cover  it  up  ?  Why — it  is  what  he  has  come  to 
see,"  answered  the  intrepid  Maud. 


357 


The  ex-senator  inspected  the  torso.  "  Most  praise 
worthy,  Miss  Mackintosh.  And,  in  execution,  quite 
— quite  fairish.  Though  you  have  perhaps  exagger 
ated  the  anatomical  effect — the  salient  appearance  of 
the  bones  ?" 

"  Not  at  all.  They  are  an  exact  reproduction  from 
life,"  answered  Maud,  with  dignity. 

Lilian  Kip,  still  apprehensive  as  to  the  influence 
of  the  torso  upon  a  young  mind,  sent  her  daughter 
home  to  play  "  battledoor  and  shuttlecock,  dear " 
(Evangcline  played  "  battledoor  and  shuttlecock, 
dear,"  every  afternoon  for  an  hour  with  her  gov 
erness,  to  acquire  "  grace  of  carriage  ")  ;  Larue  was 
now  talking  to  Ruth,  and  Lilian,  after  some  hesita 
tion,  walked  across  the  barn  and  seated  herself  on  a 
bench  at  its  far  end  (the  only  seat  in  that  resolute 
place) ;  from  this  point  she  gazed  and  gazed  at  Larue. 
He  was  as  correct  as  ever — from  his  straight  nose  to 
his  finger-tips  ;  from  his  smooth,  short  hair,  parted  in 
the  middle,  to  his  long,  slender  foot  with  its  high  in 
step.  Dolly,  tired  of  standing,  came  after  a  while 
and  sat  down  on  the  bench  beside  the  widow.  They 
heard  Achilles  say,  "  No ;  I  decided  not  to  go." 
Then,  a  few  minutes  later,  came  another  "  No  ;  I 
decided  not  to  do  that." 

"  All  his  decisions  are  not  to  do  things,"  com 
mented  Dolly,  in  an  undertone.  "  When  he  dies,  it 
can  be  put  on  his  tombstone  :  *  He  was  a  verb  in 
the  passive  voice,  conjugated  negatively.'  Why, 
what's  the  matter,  Lilian  ?" 


358 


"  It's  nothing — I  am  only  a  little  agitated.  I  will 
tell  you  about  it  some  time,"  answered  Mrs.  Kip, 
squeezing  Dolly's  hand.  Ruth,  tired  of  the  senator, 
looked  across  at  Dolly.  Dolly  joined  her,  and  they 
took  leave. 

Maud  Muriel  followed  them  to  the  door.  "  I  should 
like  to  do  your  head,  Ruth." 

"  No ;  you  are  to  do  Mr.  Chase's,"  Dolly  called 
back  from  the  phaeton.  "  She  has  been  in  love  with 
your  husband  from  the  first,"  she  went  on  to  her  sis 
ter,  as  she  turned  her  pony's  head  towards  the  Swan- 
nanoa.  And  then  Ruth  laughed  a  third  time. 

But  though  Dolly  thus  made  sport,  in  her  heart 
there  was  a  pang.  She  knew — no  one  better — that 
her  sister's  face  had  changed  greatly  during  the  past 
three  months.  Now  that  his  wife  was  well  again, 
Chase  himself  noticed  nothing.  And  to  the  little 
circle  of  North  Carolina  friends  Ruth  was  dear ;  they 
were  very  slow  to  observe  anything  that  was  unfavor 
able  to  those  they  cared  for.  To-day,  however,  Maud 
Muriel's  unerring  scent  for  ugliness  had  put  her 
(though  unconsciously)  upon  the  track,  and,  for  the 
first  time  in  all  their  acquaintance,  she  had  asked 
Ruth  to  sit  to  her.  It  was  but  a  scent  as  yet ;  Ruth 
was  still  lovely.  But  the  elder  sister  could  see,  as  in 
a  vision,  that  with  several  years  more,  under  the 
blight  of  hidden  suffering,  her  beauty  might  disap 
pear  entirely  ;  her  divine  blue  eyes  alone  could  not 
save  her  if  her  color  should  fade,  if  the  sweet  expres 
sion  of  her  mouth  should  alter  to  confirmed  unhappi- 


359 


ness,  if  her  face  should  grow  so  thin  that  its  irregu 
lar  outlines  would  become  apparent. 

Two  hours  later  there  was  a  tap  at  Miss  Billy 
Breeze's  door,  at  the  Old  North  Hotel. 

"  Come  in,"  said  Miss  Billy.  "  Oh,  is  it  you,  Lil 
ian  ?  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  I  haven't  been  out  this 
afternoon,  as  it  seemed  a  little  coolish  !" 

Mrs.  Kip  looked  excited.  "  Coolish,  Billy  ?"  she 
repeated,  standing  still  in  the  centre  of  the  room. 
"  Ish  ?  Ish  ?  And  I,  too,  have  said  it ;  I  don't  pre 
tend  to  deny  it.  But  it  is  over  at  last,  and  I  am  free  ! 
I  have  been  —  been  different  for  some  time.  But  I 
did  not  know  how  different  until  this  very  afternoon. 
I  met  him  at  Maud  Muriel's  barn,  soon  after  two. 
And  I  sat  there,  and  looked  at  him  and  looked  at 
him.  And  suddenly  it  came  across  me  that  perhaps 
after  all  I  didn't  care  quite  so  much  for  him.  I  was 
so  nervous  that  I  could  scarcely  speak,  but  I  did 
manage  to  ask  him  to  take  a  little  stroll  with  me. 
For  you  see  I  wanted  to  be  perfectly  sure.  And  as 
he  walked  along  beside  me,  putting  down  his  feet  in 
that  precise  sort  of  way  he  does,  and  every  now  and 
then  saying  'ish' — like  a  great  light  in  the  dark, 
like  a  falling  off  of  chains,  I  knew  that  it  was  at  last 
at  an  end — that  he  had  ceased  to  be  all  the  world  to 
me.  And  it  was  such  an  enormous  relief  that  when 
I  came  back,  if  there  had  been  a  circus  or  a  menag 
erie  in  town,  I  give  you  my  word  I  should  certainly 
have  gone  to  it — as  a  celebration !  And  then,  Billy, 
I  thought  of  you.  And  I  made  up  my  mind  that  I 


would  come  right  straight  over  here  and  ask  you — 
Is  he  worth  it  ?  What  has  Achilles  Larue  ever  done 
for  either  of  us,  Billy,  but  just  snub,  snub,  snub? 
and  crush,  crush,  crush  ?  If  you  could  only  feel  what 
a  joy  it  is  to  have  that  tiresome  old  ache  gone  !  And 
to  just  know  that  he  is  hateful !"  And  Lilian,  much 
agitated,  took  Billy's  hand  in  hers. 

But  Billy,  dim  and  pale,  drew  herself  away.  "You 
do  him  great  injustice,  Lilian.  But  he  has  never 
expected  the  ordinary  mind  to  comprehend  him.  Your 
intentions,  of  course,  are  good,  and  I  am  obliged  to 
you  for  them.  But  I  am  not  like  you  ;  to  me  it  is  a 
pleasure,  and  always  will  be,  as  well  as  a  constant 
education,  to  go  on  admiring  the  greatest  man  I  have 
ever  known !" 

"  Whether  he  looks  at  you  or  not  ?"  demanded 
Lilian. 

"  Whether  he  looks  at  me  or  not,"  answered  Billy, 
firmly. 

"  If  you  had  ever  been  married,  Wilhelmina,  you 
would  know  that  you  could  not  go  on  forever  living 
on  shadoivs  /"  declared  the  widow  as  she  took  leave. 
"  Shadows  may  be  all  very  well.  But  we  are  hu 
man,  after  all,  and  we  need  realities"  Having  de 
cided  upon  a  new  reality,  her  step  was  so  joyous  that 
Horace  Chase,  coming  home  from  his  long  ride  to 
Crumb's,  hardly  recognized  her,  as  he  passed  her  in 
the  twilight.  At  L'Hommedieu  he  found  no  one  in 
the  sitting-room  but  Dolly.  "Ruth  is  resting  after 
our  drive,"  explained  the  elder  sister.  "  I  took  her 


361 


first  to  the  barn  to  see  Maud  Muriel's  torso,  and  that 
made  her  laugh  tremendously.  Well,  is  The  Lodge 
in  order  ?" 

"Yes,  it's  all  right;  Nick's  friends  can  come  along 
as  soon  as  they  like,"  Chase  answered. 

"  And  are  none  of  the  Willoughbys  to  be  there 
this  summer?"  Dolly  went  on. 

"  No  ;  Nick  has  gone  to  Carlsbad  —  he  isn't  well. 
And  Richard  is  off  yachting.  Walter  has  taken  a 
cottage  at  Newport." 

Dolly  already  knew  this  latter  fact.  But  she 
wished  to  hear  it  again, 

Rinda  now  appeared,  ushering  in  Malachi  Hill. 
The  young  clergyman  was  so  unusually  erect  that  he 
seemed  tall ;  his  face  was  flushed,  and  his  eyes  had 
a  triumphant  expression.  He  looked  first  at  Dolly, 
then  at  Chase.  "  I've  done  it !"  he  announced,  dash 
ing  his  clerical  hat  down  upon  the  sofa.  "  That  Miss 
Mackintosh  has  called  me  '  Manikin '  once  too  often. 
She  did  it  again  just  now — in  the  alley  behind  your 
house.  And  I  up  and  kissed  her  !"" 

"  You  didn't,"  said  Chase,  breaking  into  a  roaring 
laugh. 

"  Yes ;  I  did.  For  three  whole  years  and  more, 
Mr.  Chase,  that  woman  has  treated  me  with  perfectly 
outrageous  contempt.  She  has  seemed  to  think  that 
I  was  nothing  at  all,  that  I  wasn't  a  man ;  she  has 
walked  on  me,  stamped  on  me,  shoved  me  right  and 
"left,  and  even  kicked  me,  as  it  were.  I  have  felt  that 
I  couldn't  stand  it  much  longer.  And  I  have  tried 


to  think  of  a  way  to  take  her  down.  Suddenly,  just 
now,  it  came  to  me  that  nothing  on  earth  would  take 
her  down  quite  so  much  as  that.  And  so  when  she 
came  out  with  her  accustomed  epithet,  I  just  gave 
her  a  hurl,  and  did  it !  It  is  true  I'm  a  clergyman, 
and  I  have  acted  as  though  I  had  kept  on  being 
only  an  insurance  agent.  But  a  man  is  a  man 
after  all,  in  spite  of  the  cloth,"  concluded  Malachi, 
belligerently. 

"  Oh,  don't  apologize,"  said  Dolly.  "  It's  too  de 
licious  !"  And  then  she  and  Horace  Chase,  for  once 
of  the  same  mind,  laughed  until  they  were  ex 
hausted. 

Meanwhile  the  sculptress  had  appeared  in  Miss 
Billy's  sitting-room.  She  came  in  without  knocking, 
her  footfall  much  more  quiet  than  usual.  "  Wilhel- 
mina,  how  old  are  you  ?"  she  demanded,  after  she  had 
carefully  closed  the  door. 

"Why — you  know.  I  am  thirty-nine,"  Billy  an 
swered,  putting  down  with  tender  touch  the  book 
she  was  reading  (The  Blue  Ridge  in  the  Glacial 
Period). 

"  And  I  am  forty,"  pursued  Maud,  meditatively. 
"  It  is  never  too  late  to  add  to  one's  knowledge,  Wil- 
helmina,  if  the  knowledge  is  accurate ;  that  is,  if  it  is 
observed  from  life.  And  I  have  stopped  in  for  a 
moment,  on  my  way  home,  to  mention  something 
which  is  so  observed.  You  know  all  the  talk  and  fuss 
there  is  in  poetry,  Wilhelmina,  about  kisses  (I  mean ' 
when  given  by  a  man)?  I  am  now  in  a  position  to 


363 


tell  you,  from  actual  experience,  what  they  amount 
to."  She  came  nearer,  and  lowered  her  voice. 
"  They  are  very  far  indeed  from  being  what  is  de 
scribed.  There  is  nothing  in  them.  Nothing  what 
ever  1" 


CHAPTER    XXI 

HORACE  CHASE  spent  the  whole  summer  at 
L'llommedieu,  without  any  journeys  or  absences.  His 
wife  rode  with  him  several  times  a  week ;  she  drove 
out  with  Dolly  in  the  phaeton  ;  she  led  her  usual  life. 
Usual,  that  is,  to  a  certain  extent ;  for,  personally, 
she  was  listless,  and  the  change  in  her  looks  was 
growing  so  much  more  marked  that  at  last  every  one, 
save  her  husband,  noticed  it.  When  September 
came,  Chase  went  to  New  York  on  business.  He 
was  absent  two  weeks.  When  he  returned  he  found 
his  wife  lying  on  the  sofa.  She  left  the  sofa  for  a 
chair  when  he  came  in ;  but,  after  the  first  day,  she 
no  longer  made  this  effort ;  she  remained  on  the 
couch,  hour  after  hour,  with  her  eyes  closed.  Once 
or  twice,  when  her  husband  urged  it,  she  rode  out 
with  him.  But  her  figure  drooped  so,  as  she  sat  in 
the  saddle,  that  he  did  not  ask  her  to  go  again.  He 
began  to  feel  vaguely  uneasy.  She  seemed  well ; 
but  her  silence  and  her  pallor  troubled  him.  As  she 
herself  was  impenetrable — sweet,  gentle,  and  dumb — 
he  was  finally  driven  to  speak  to  Dolly. 

"  You  say  she  seems  well,"  Dolly  answered.  "  But 
that  is  just  the  trouble ;  she  seems  so,  but  she  is 
not.  What  she  needs,  in  my  opinion,  is  a  complete 


365 


change — a  change  of  scene  and  air  and  associations 
of  all  kinds.  Take  her  abroad  for  five  or  six  years, 
and  arrange  your  own  affairs  so  that  you  can  stay 
there  with  her." 

"  Five  or  six  years  ?  That's  a  large  order ;  that's 
living  over  there,"  Chase  said,  surprised. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Dolly,  "  that  is  what  I  mean. 
Live  there  for  a  while."  Then  she  made  what  was  to 
her  a  supreme  sacrifice:  "/will  stay  here.  I  won't 
try  to  go."  This  wras  a  bribe.  She  knew  that  her 
brother-in-law  found  her  constant  presence  irksome. 

"  Of  course  I  wouldn't  hesitate  if  I  thought  it 
would  set  her  up,"  said  Chase.  "  I'll  see  what  she 
says  about  it." 

"  If  you  consult  her,  that  will  be  the  end  of  the 
whole  thing,"  answered  Dolly  ;  "  you  will  never  go, 
and  neither  will  she.  For  she  will  feel  that  you 
would  be  sure  to  dislike  it.  You  ought  to  arrange 
it  without  one  syllable  to-  her,  and  then  do  it.  And 
if  1  were  you,  I  wouldn't  postpone  it  too  long." 

"  What  do  you  talk  that  way  for  ?"  said  Chase,  an 
grily.  "  You  have  no  right  to  keep  anything  from 
me  if  you  know  anything.  What  do  you  th ink's  the 
matter  with  her,  that  you  take  that  tone  ?" 

"  I  think  she  is  dying,"  Dolly  answered,  stolidly. 
"  Slowly,  of  course ;  it  might  require  three  or  four 
years  more  at  the  present  rate  of  progress.  If  noth 
ing  is  done  to  stop  it,  by  next  year  it  would  be  called 
nervous  prostration,  perhaps.  And  then,  the  year 
after,  consumption." 


366 


Chase  sprang  up.  "  How  dare  you  sit  there  and 
talk  to  me  of  her  dying?"  he  exclaimed,  hotly. 
"  What  the  hell  do  you  mean  ?" 

Dolly  preserved  her  composure  unbroken.  "  She 
has  never  been  very  strong.  Nobody  can  know  with 
absolute  accuracy,  Mr.  Chase ;  but  at  least  I  am  tell 
ing  you  exactly  what  I  think." 

"  I'll  take  her  abroad  at  once.  I'll  live  over  there 
forever  if  it  will  do  any  good,"  Chase  answered,  turn 
ing  to  go  out  in  order  to  hide  his  emotion. 

"Remember,  if  you  tell  her  about  it  beforehand, 
she  will  refuse  to  go,"  Dolly  called  after  him. 

Always  prompt,  that  same  afternoon  Chase  started 
northward.  He  was  on  his  way  to  New  York,  with 
the  intention  of  arranging  his  affairs  so  that  he 
could  leave  them  for  several  years.  It  would  be  a 
heavy  piece  of  work.  But  work  never  daunted  him. 
The  very  first  moment  that  it  was  possible  he  in 
tended  to  return  to  L'Hornmedieu,  take  his  wife,  and 
go  abroad  by  the  next  steamer,  allowing  her  not  one 
hour  for  demur.  In  the  meanwhile,  she  was  to 
know  nothing  of  the  project ;  it  was  to  take  her  by 
surprise,  according  to  Dolly's  idea. 

Dolly  spent  the  time  of  his  absence  in  trying  to 
amuse  her  sister,  or  at  least  in  trying  to  occupy  her 
and  fill  the  long  days.  These  days,  out  of  doors,  were 
heavenly  in  their  beauty  ;  the  atmosphere  of  paradise, 
as  we  imagine  paradise,  was  now  lent  to  earth  for  a 
time ;  a  fringe  of  it  lay  over  the  valley  of  the  French 
Broad.  The  sunshine  was  a  golden  haze ;  the  hue  of 


367 


the  mountains  was  like  violet  velvet ;  there  was  no 
wind,  the  air  was  perfectly  still ;  in  all  directions  the 
forest  was  glowing  and  flaming  with  the  indescrib 
ably  gorgeous  tints  of  the  American  autumn.  For  a 
time  Ruth  had  seemed  a  little  stronger ;  she  had 
taken  two  or  three  drives  in  the  phaeton.  Then  her 
listlessness  came  back  with  double  force.  One  after 
noon  Dolly  found  her  lying  with  her  head  on  her 
arm  (like  a  flower  half-broken  from  its  stalk,  poor 
Dolly  thought).  But  the  elder  sister  began  bravely, 
with  a  laugh.  "Well,  it's  out,  Ruth.  It  is  an 
nounced  to-day,  and  everybody  knows  it.  I  mean 
the  engagement  of  Malachi  and  the  fair  Lilian.  But 
somebody  ought  really  to  speak  to  them,  it  is  a  pub 
lic  matter ;  it  ought  to  be  in  the  hands  of  a  Society 
for  the  Prevention  of  Cruelty  to  the  Future.  Think 
of  her  profile,  and  then  of  his,  and  imagine,  if  you 
can,  a  combination  of  the  two  let  loose  upon  an 
innocent  world  !" 

Ruth  smiled  a  little,  but  the  smile  was  faint.  She 
lay  for  some  minutes  longer  with  closed  eyes,  and 
then,  wearily,  she  sat  up.  "  Oh,  I  am  so  tired  of 
this  room !  I  believe  I'll  go  out,  after  all.  Please 
call  Felicite,  and  order  the  phaeton." 

"  A  drive  ?  That  is  a  good  idea,  as  it  is  such 
a  divine  afternoon,"  said  Dolly.  "  I  will  go  with 
you." 

"  Oh  no — with  your  lame  arm."  (For  rheumatism 
had  been  bothering  Dolly  all  day.)  u  If  you  arc 
afraid  to  have  me  go  alone,  I  can  take  Felicite." 


368 


"  Very  well,"  said  Dolly,  who  thwarted  Ruth  now 
in  nothing.  "  May  I  sit  here  while  you  dress  ?" 

"  If  you  like,"  answered  Ruth,  her  voice  dull  and 
languid. 

Dolly  pretended  to  knit,  and  she  made  jokes  about 
the  approaching  nuptials.  "  It  is  to  come  off  during 
Christmas  week,  they  say.  The  bishop  is  to  be 
here,  but  he  will  only  pronounce  the  benediction,  for 
Lilian  prefers  to  have  Mr.  Arlington  perform  the  cer 
emony.  You  see,  she  is  accustomed  to  Mr.  Arling 
ton  ;  she  usually  has  him  for  her  marriages,  you 
know."  But  in  Dolly's  heart,  as  she  talked,  there 
were  no  jokes.  For  as  Fclicite  dressed  Ruth,  the  el 
der  sister  could  not  help  seeing  how  wasted  was  the 
slender  figure.  And  when  the  skilful  hand  of  the 
Frenchwoman  brushed  and  braided  the  thick  hair, 
the  hollows  at  the  temples  were  conspicuous.  Fe- 
licite,  making  no  remark  about  it,  shaded  these  hol 
lows  with  little  waving  locks.  But  Ruth,  putting  up 
her  hands  impatiently,  pushed  the  locks  all  back. 

When  she  returned  from  her  drive  two  hours 
later,  the  sun  was  setting.  She  entered  the  parlor 
with  rapid  step,  her  arms  full  of  branches  of  bright 
leaves  which  she  had  gathered.  Their  tints  were  less 
bright  than  her  cheeks,  and  her  eyes  had  a  radiance 
that  was  startling. 

Dolly  looked  at  her,  alarmed,  though  (faithful  to 
her  rule)  she  made  no  comment.  "  Can  it  be  fever?" 
she  thought.  But  this  was  not  fever. 

Ruth  decorated  the  room  with  her  branches.     She 


369 


said  nothing  of  importance,  only  a  vague  word  or 
two  about  the  sunshine,  and  the  beauty  of  the  brill 
iant  forest ;  but  she  hummed  to  herself,  and  finally 
broke  into  a  song,  as  with  the  same  rapid  step  she 
went  upstairs  to  her  room. 

A  few  moments  later  Miss  Billy  Breeze  was  shown 
in.  "  I  couldn't  help  stopping  for  a  moment,  Dolly, 
because  I  am  so  perfectly  delighted  to  see  that  dear 
Ruth  is  so  much  better ;  she  passed  me  a  little  while 
ago  in  her  phaeton,  looking  really  brilliant !  Her 
old  self  again.  After  all,  the  mountain  air  has  done 
her  good.  I  was  so  glad  that  (I  don't  mind  telling 
you)  —  I  went  right  home  and  knelt  down  and 
thanked  God,"  said  the  good  little  woman,  with  the 
tears  welling  up  in  her  pretty  eyes. 

Miss  Billy  stayed  nearly  half  an  hour.  Just  be 
fore  she  went  away  she  said  (after  twenty  minutes 
of  excited  talk  about  Lilian  and  Malachi),  "Oh,  I 
saw  Mr.  Willoughby  in  the  street  this  afternoon  ;  he 
had  ridden  up  from  The  Lodge,  so  Mr.  Bebb  told  me. 
I  didn't  know  he  was  staying  there  ?" 

"  Why,  has  he  come  back  from  Carlsbad  ?"  asked 
Dolly,  surprised. 

"Oh,  I  don't  mean  Mr.  Nicholas  Willoughby,"  an 
swered  Billy,  "  I  mean  Walter ;  the  nephew,  you 
know.  The  one  who  was  groomsman  at  Ruth's  wed- 
ding." 

24 


CHAPTER    XXII 

RUTH  had  seen  "Walter.  It  was  tins  which  had 
given  her  that  new  life.  Tired  of  Felicite's  "  flap 
ping  way  of  driving,"  as  she  called  it,  she  had  left 
the  phaeton  for  a  few  moments,  and  was  sitting  by 
herself  in  the  forest,  with  her  elbow  on  her  knee  and 
her  chin  resting  on  the  palm  of  her  hand ;  her  eyes, 
vaguely  fixed  on  a  red  bush  near  by,  had  an  indescrib 
ably  weary  expression.  Her  figure  was  out  of  sight 
from  the  place  where  the  phaeton  and  the  maid  were 
waiting ;  her  face  was  turned  in  the  other  direction. 
In  this  direction  there  was  at  some  distance  a  second 
road,  and  along  this  track  she  saw  presently  a  man 
approaching  on  horseback.  Suddenly  she  recognized 
him.  It  was  Walter  Willoughby.  He  slackened  his 
speed  for  a  moment  to  say  a  word  or  two  to  a  farmer 
who  was  on  his  way  to  Asheville  with  a  load  of  wood  ; 
then,  touching  his  horse  with  his  whip,  he  rode  on  at 
a  brisk  pace,  and  in  a  moment  more  was  out  of 
sight. 

Ruth  had  started  to  her  feet.  But  the  distance 
was  too  great  for  her  to  call  to  him.  Straight  as  the 
flight  of  an  arrow  she  ran  towards  the  wagon,  which 
was  pursuing  its  way,  the  horses  walking  slowly,  the 
wheels  giving  out  a  regular  "  scrunch,  scrunch." 


371 


"  The  gentleman  who  spoke  to  you  just  now — do 
you  know  where  lie  is  staying  ?" 

"  Down  to  Crumb's ;  leastways  that  new  house 
they've  built  on  the  mountain  'bove  there.  He  'lowed 
I  might  bring  him  down  some  peaches  !  But  peaches 
is  out  long  ago,"  replied  the  man.  Ruth  returned 
home.  She  went  through  the  evening  in  a  dream, 
listening  to  Dolly's  remarks  without  much  answer ; 
then,  earlier  than  usual,  she  sought  her  own  room. 
She  fell  asleep  instantly,  and  her  sleep  was  so  pro 
found  that  Dolly,  who  stole  softly  to  the  door  at  mid 
night  and  again  at  one  o'clock,  to  see  if  all  was  well, 
went  back  to  her  room  greatly  cheered.  For  this  was 
the  best  night's  rest  which  Ruth  had  had  for  months. 
The  elder  sister,  relieved  and  comforted,  soon  sank 
into  slumber  herself. 

Ruth's  tranquil  rest  came  simply  from  freedom, 
from  the  end  of  the  long  struggle  which  had  been 
consuming  her  strength  and  her  life.  The  sudden 
vision  of  the  man  she  loved,  his  actual  presence  be 
fore  her,  had  broken  down  her  last  barrier ;  it  had 
given  way  silently,  as  a  dam  against  which  deep 
water  has  long  pressed  yields  sometimes  without  a 
sound  when  the  flood  rises  but  one  inch  higher.  She 
slept  because  she  was  going  to  him,  and  she  knew 
that  she  was  going. 

She  had  been  vaguely  aware  that  she  could  not 
see  Walter  again  with  any  security.  It  was  this 
which  had  made  her  take  refuge  in  her  mother's  old 
home  in  the  mountains,  far  away  from  him  and  from 


372 


all  chance  of  meeting  him.  She  could  not  trust  her 
self,  but  she  could  flee.  And  she  had  fled.  This, 
however,  was  the  limit  of  her  force  ;  her  will  had  not 
the  power  to  sustain  her,  to  keep  her  from  lassitude 
and  despair;  and  thus  she  had  drooped  and  faded 
until  to  her  sister  had  come  that  terrible  fear  that  the 
end  would  really  be  death.  When  Walter  appeared, 
she  was  powerless  to  resist  further,  she  went  to  him 
as  the  needle  turns  to  the  pole.  Her  love  led  her 
like  a  despot,  and  it  was  sweet  to  her  to  be  thus  led. 
Her  action  was  utterly  uncalculating ;  the  loss  of  her 
home  was  as  nothing  to  her ;  the  loss  of  her  good- 
repute,  nothing ;  her  husband,  her  sister,  the  whole 
world — all  were  alike  forgotten.  She  had  but  one 
thought,  one  idea — to  go  to  him. 

She  woke  an  hour  before  dawn  ;  it  was  the  time 
she  had  fixed  upon.  She  left  her  bed  and  dressed 
herself,  using  the  brilliant  moonlight  as  her  candle ; 
with  soft,  quick  steps  she  stole  down  the  stairs  to  the 
kitchen,  and  taking  a  key  which  was  hanging  from  a 
nail  by  the  fireplace,  she  let  herself  out.  The  big 
watch-dog,  Turk,  came  to  meet  her,  wagging  his  tail. 
She  went  to  the  stable,  unlocked  the  door,  and  leav 
ing  it  open  for  the  sake  of  the  light,  she  saddled  Ken 
tucky  Belle.  Then  she  led  the  gentle  creature  down 
the  garden  to  a  gate  at  its  end  which  opened  upon 
the  back  street.  Closing  this  gate  behind  her  so  that 
Turk  should  not  follow,  she  mounted-and  rode  away. 

The  village  was  absolutely  silent ;  each  moonlit 
street  seemed  more  still  than  the  last.  When  the  out- 


373 


skirts  were  left  behind,  she  turned  her  horse  towards 
the  high  bridle-path,  whose  general  course  was  the 
same  as  that  of  the  road  along  the  river  below,  the 
road  which  led  to  the  Warm  Springs,  passing  on  its 
way  the  farm  of  David  Crumb. 

As  she  did  these  things,  one  after  the  other,  she 
neither  thought  nor  reasoned ;  her  action  was  in 
stinctive.  And  the  ride  was  a  revel  of  joy  ;  her 
cheeks  were  flushed  with  rose,  her  eyes  were  brilliant, 
her  pulses  were  beating  with  a  force  and  health 
which  they  had  not  known  for  months ;  she  sang  to 
herself  little  snatches  of  songs,  vaguely,  but  gayly. 

The  dawn  grew  golden,  the  sun  came  up.  The  air 
was  perfectly  still  and  softly  hazy.  Every  now  and 
then  a  red  leaf  floated  gently  down  from  its  branch 
to  the  ground ;  the  footfalls  of  Kentucky  Belle  were 
muffled  in  these  fallen  leaves. 

The  bridle-path,  winding  along  the  flanks  of  the 
mountain,  was  longer  than  the  straighter  road  below. 
It  was  eight  o'clock  before  it  brought  her  in  sight  of 
Crumb's.  "  I  must  leave  Kentucky  Belle  in  good 
hands,"  she  thought.  A  steep  track  led  down  to  the 
farm.  The  mare  followed  it  cautiously,  and  brought 
her  to  Portia's  door.  "  Can  your  husband  take  care 
of  my  horse  for  an  hour  or  two  ?"  she  asked,  smiling, 
as  Portia  came  out.  "  Is  he  at  home  ?" 

"  He's  at  home.  But  he  ain't  workin'  to  -  day," 
Mrs.  Crumb  replied ;  "  he's  ailin'  a  little.  But  Pll 
see  to  yer  mare." 

Ruth  dismounted  ;  patting  Kentucky  Belle,  she  put 


374 


her  cheek  for  a  moment  against  the  beautiful  creat 
ure's  head.  "Good-bye,"  she  whispered.  "I  am  go 
ing  for  a  walk,"  she  said  to  Portia. 

"  Take  a  snack  of  sumpV  nerrer  to  eat  first  ?" 
Portia  suggested. 

But  Ruth  shook  her  head ;  she  was  already  off. 
She  went  down  the  river  road  as  though  she  intended 

O 

to  take  her  walk  in  that  direction.  But  as  soon  as 
the  bend  concealed  her  from  Portia's  view  she  turned 
into  the  forest.  The  only  footpath  to  the  terrace, 
"  Ruth's  Terrace,"  where  Nicholas  Willoughby  had 
built  his  cottage,  was  the  one  which  led  up  from 
Crumb's  ;  Ruth's  idea  was  that  she  should  soon  reach 
this  track.  But  somehow  she  missed  it;  she  gave 
up  the  search,  and,  turning,  went  straight  up  the 
mountain.  This  slope  also  was  covered  with  the 
fallen  leaves,  a  carpet  of  red  and  gold.  She  climbed 
lightly,  joyously,  pulling  herself  up  the  steepest 
places  by  the  trunks  of  the  smaller  trees.  Her  color 
brightened.  Taking  some  of  the  leaves,  she  twisted 
their  stalks  round  the  buttons  of  her  habit  so  as  to 
make  a  red-and-gold  trimming. 

When  she  reached  the  summit  she  knew  where 
she  was,  for  she  could  now  see  the  cliffs  on  the  other 
side  of  the  French  Broad.  They  told  her  that  she 
had  gone  too  far  to  the  left ;  and,  turning,  this  time 
in  the  right  direction,  she  made  her  way  through  the 
forest  along  the  plateau,  keeping  close  to  its  verge  as 
a  guide.  As  the  chimneys  of  the  Lodge  came  into 
view,  she  reminded  herself  that  she  wished  to  see 


375 


Walter  first — Walter  himself,  and  not  the  servants. 
She  had  already  paid  several  visits  to  The  Lodge ; 
she  knew  the  place  well.  A  good  carriage-road  led 
to  it  through  a  ravine  which  opened  three  miles  be 
low  Crumb's ;  Nicholas  Willoughby  had  constructed 
this  new  ascent.  But  he  had  not  built  any  fences 
or  walls,  and  she  could  therefore  approach  without 
being  seen  by  keeping  among  the  trees.  At  the  side 
there  was  a  thicket,  which  almost  touched  one  end  of 
the  veranda;  she  stole  into  this  thicket,  and  noise 
lessly  made  her  way  towards  the  house.  When  she 
reached  the  nearest  point  which  she  could  attain  un 
seen,  she  paused ;  her  idea  was  to  wait  here  until 
Walter  should  come  out. 

For  he  would  be  sure  to  come  before  long.  The 
veranda  was  always  the  sitting-room  ;  it  commanded 
that  wide  view  of  the  mountains  far  and  near  which 
had  caused  Nicholas  Willoughby,  at  the  cost  of  much 
money  and  trouble,  to  perch  his  cottage  just  here. 
The  friends  to  whom  he  had  lent  The  Lodge  had  left 
it  ten  days  before,  as  Ruth  knew.  A  man  and  his  wife 
were  always  in  charge,  but  when  they  were  alone  the 
front  of  the  house  was  kept  closed.  To-day  the  win 
dows  were  all  open,  a  rising  breeze  swayed  the  curtains 
to  and  fro,  and  there  were  numerous  other  signs  of 
AValter's  presence  ;  on  the  veranda  were  several  easy- 
chairs  and  a  lounge,  besides  a  table  with  books  and 
papers.  And  wasn't  that  the  hat  he  had  worn  when 
she  saw  him  talking  to  the  farmer  the  day  before  ? 
Yes,  it  was  the  same.  "  What  time  can  it  be  ?"  she 


376 


thought.  She  had  not  her  watch  with  her — the  cost 
ly  diamond -decked  toy  which  Horace  Chase  had 
given  her  ;  she  had  left  it  with  her  rings  on  the 
toilet-table  at  L'Hominedieu.  Her  wedding-ring  was 
there  also.  But  this  was  not  from  any  plan  about 
it;  she  always  took  off  her  rings  at  night.  She  had 
simply  forgotten  to  put  them  on. 

After  ten  minutes  of  waiting  her  heart  gave  a  leap 
— she  heard  Walter's  voice  within  the  house.  "That 
is  a  woman  answering.  He  is  talking  to  the  house 
keeper,"  she  said  to  herself. 

But  presently  there  seemed  to  be  three  voices. 
"  It  is  another  servant,"  she  thought.  Then,  before 
she  had  time  to  recognize  that  the  intonations  were 
not  those  of  the  mountain  women  (who  were  the 
only  resource  as  servants  in-  this  remote  spot),  Wal 
ter  Willoughby  himself  came  into  view,  pushing 
aside  the  curtains  of  one  of  the  long  windows  that 
opened  on  the  veranda. 

But  before  Ruth  could  detach  herself  from  the 
branches  that  surrounded  her,  he  had  drawn  back 
again  to  make  room  for  some  one  else,  and  a  lady 
came  out.  He  followed  this  lady  ;  he  took  his  seat 
familiarly  upon  the  lounge  where  she  had  placed  her 
self.  It  was  Marion  Barclay,  the  handsome,  inani 
mate  girl  who,  witli  her  father  and  mother,  had  spent 
some  weeks  at  St.  Augustine  during  the  preceding 
winter. 

Marion  was  no  longer  inanimate.  The  fault  of 
her  finely  chiselled  face  had  been  its  coldness ;  but 


377 


there  was  no  coldness  now  as  Walter  Willougliby 
took  her  hand  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips. 

At  this  moment  Mrs.  Barclay,  Marion's  mother, 
appeared.  "  Well,  Darby  and  Joan,"  she  said,  smil 
ing,  as  she  established  herself  in  the  most  comforta 
ble  chair. 

Mrs.  Barclay  had  favored  Walter's  suit  from  the  first. 
It  was  her  husband  who  had  opposed  it.  Chris 
topher  Barclay  had,  in  fact,  opposed  it  so  strongly 
that  at  St.  Augustine  he  had  dismissed  young  Wil- 
loughby  with  a  very  decided  negative.  It  was  while 
held  at  bay  by  this  curt  refusal  that  young  Willougli 
by  had  entertained  himself  for  a  time  by  a  fresh 
study  of  Mrs.  Horace  Chase. 

This,  however,  had  been  but  a  brief  diversion ;  he 
had  never  had  the  least  intention  of  giving  up  Mar 
ion,  and  he  had  renewed  his  suit  at  Newport  as  soon 
as  the  summer  opened.  This  time  he  had  been  more 
successful,  and  finally  he  had  succeeded  in  winning 
Christopher  Barclay  to  the  belief  that  he  would  know 
how  to  manage  his  daughter's  fortune,  as,  from  the 
first,  he  had  won  Mrs.  Barclay  to  the  conviction  that 
he  would  know  how  to  manage  her  daughter's  heart. 
Marion  herself  meanwhile  had  never  had  the  slight 
est  doubt  as  to  either  the  one  or  the  other.  The  en 
gagement  was  still  very  new.  As  Mr.  Barclay  had 
investments  at  Chattanooga  to  look  after,  the  little 
party  of  four  had  taken  these  beautiful  October  days 
for  an  excursion  to  Tennessee.  Mrs.  Barclay  had 
heard  that  one  of  the  elder  Willoughbys  had  built  a 


378 


cottage  "  not  far  from  the  Great  Smoky  Mountains," 
and  as  the  paradisiacal  weather  continued,  with  the 
forests  all  aglow  and  the  sky  a  mixture  of  blue  and 
gold,  she  suggested  that  they  should  go  over  from 
Chattanooga  and  take  a  look  at  it.  Walter  had  there 
fore  arranged  it.  From  the  Warm  Springs  he  him 
self  had  ridden  on  in  advance,  in  order  to  have  the 
house  opened ;  this  was  the  moment  when  he  had 
made  his  brief  visit  to  Asheville  for  the  purpose  of 
ordering  supplies.  The  Barclays  were  to  come  no 
farther  eastward  than  The  Lodge ;  they  were  to  re 
turn  in  a  day  or  two  to  Warm  Springs,  and  thence 
back  to  Chattanooga.  Even  if  he  had  known  that 
Ruth  Chase  was  at  L'Hommedieu,  Walter  would  not 
have  been  deterred  from  pleasing  Mrs.  Barclay  by 
any  thought  of  her  vicinity  ;  but,  as  it  happened,  he 
supposed  that  she  was  in  New  York.  For  a  recent 
letter  from  Nicholas  Willoughby  had  mentioned  that 
Chase  himself  was  there,  and  that  he  was  going 
abroad  with  his  wife  for  several  years,  sailing  by  the 
next  Wednesday's  Cunarder. 

"  Darby  and  Joan  ?"  Walter  had  repeated,  in  an 
swer  to  Mrs.  Barclay's  remark.  "  That  is  exactly 
what  I  am  after,  mother.  Come,  let  us  settle  the 
matter  now  on  the  spot — the  bona  fide  Darby-and- 
Joan-ness.  When  shall  it  begin  ?" 

"  '  Mother '! "  commented  Mrs.  Barclay,  laughing. 
u  You  have  not  lost  much  in  your  life  through  timid 
ity,  Walter ;  I  venture  to  say  that." 

"  Nothing   whatever,"   Walter   replied,  promptly. 


379 


"  Shall  we  arrange  it  for  next  month  ?  I  have  always 
said  I  should  select  November  for  my  wedding,  to 
see  how  my  wife  bears  bad  weather." 

"  No,  no.  Not  quite  so  soon  as  that,"  answered 
Mrs.  Barclay.  "  But  early  in  the  year  perhaps,"  she 
went  on,  consentingly,  as  she  looked  at  her  daugh 
ter's  happy  blushing  face. 

Ruth  heard  every  word  ;  the  veranda  was  not  four 
yards  distant ;  through  the  crevices  in  the  foliage 
she  could  see  them  all  distinctly. 

She  had  immediately  recognized  the  Barclays. 
Anthony  Etheridge's  speech  about  Walter's  being  in 
their  train  came  back  to  her,  and  other  mentions  of 
their  name  as  well.  But  this  was  mechanical  merely ; 
what  held  her,  what  transfixed  her,  was  Walter's  own 
countenance.  Marion  Barclay,  Mrs.  Barclay,  all  the 
rumors  that  Etheridge  could  collect,  these  would 
have  been  nothing  to  her  if  it  had  not  been  for  that 
— for  Walter's  face. 

And  Walter  was,  in  truth,  very  happy.  Marion 
was  everything  that  he  wished  his  wife  to  be :  she 
was  accomplished  and  statuesque ;  to  those  she  liked 
she  could  be  charming ;  her  features  had  the  distinc 
tion  which  he  had  always  been  determined  that  his 
wife  should  possess.  He  was  not  marrying  her  for 
her  fortune,  though  he  was  very  glad  she  had  that, 
also.  He  was  much  in  love  with  her,  and  it  was 
this  which  Ruth  had  perceived — perceived  beyond  a 
doubt. 

For  ten  minutes  she  stood  there  motionless,  her 


eyes  resting  upon  him.  Then,  feeling  a  deathlike 
chill  coming,  she  had  just  sense  enough,  just  life 
enough  left,  to  move  backward  noiselessly  through 
the  smooth  leaves  until  she  had  reached  the  open 
forest  beyond.  As  a  whole  life  passes  before  the 
eyes  of  a  drowning  man,  in  the  same  way  she  saw  as 
in  a  vision  her  long  mistake,  and  her  one  idea  was  to 
get  to  some  spot  where  he  could  not  see  her,  where 
he  would  never  find  her,  before  she  sank  down.  She 
glanced  over  her  shoulder;  yes,  the  thicket  concealed 
her  in  that  direction.  Then  she  looked  towards  the 
verge  ;  her  hurrying  steps  took  her  thither.  Sitting 
down  on  the  edge,  she  let  herself  slip  over,  holding 
on  by  a  little  sapling.  It  broke  and  gave  way.  And 
then  the  figure  in  the  dark  riding-habit,  which  was 
still  adorned  gayly  with  the  bright  leaves,  disap 
peared. 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

DOLLY  FRANKLIN  woke  soon  after  dawn.  A  mo 
ment  later  she  stole  to  Ruth's  door  and  listened. 
There  was  no  sound  within,  and,  hoping  that  the 
tranquil  slumber  still  continued,  the  elder  sister 
turned  the  door-handle  and  looked  in. 

The  window-curtains  were  drawn  widely  aside,  as 
Ruth  had  arranged  them  several  hours  before,  in 
order  to  let  in  the  moonlight ;  the  clear  sunshine 
showed  that  the  bed  was  tenantless,  the  room  empty. 
Dolly  entered  quickly,  closing  the  door  behind  her. 
But  there  was  no  letter  bearing  her  name  fastened 
to  the  pin-cushion  or  placed  conspicuously  on  the 
mantel-piece,  as  she  had  feared.  The  rings,  watch, 
arid  purse  lying  on  the  toilet-table  next  attracted  her 
attention ;  she  placed  them  in  a  drawer  and  locked 
it,  putting  the  key  in  her  pocket.  Then,  with  her 
heart  throbbing,  she  looked  to  see  what  clothes  had 
been  taken.  "The  riding-habit  and  hat.  She  has 
gone  to  The  Lodge  !  She  has  found  out  in  some  way 
that  he  is  staying  there.  Probably  she  is  on  Ken 
tucky  Belle." 

After  making  sure  that  there  were  no  other  be 
trayals  in  Ruth's  deserted  room,  the  elder  sister  re 
turned  to  her  own  apartment  and  rang  for  her  Eng- 


382 


lish  maid,  Diana  Pollikett.  Diana  was  not  yet  up. 
As  soon  as  possible  she  came  hurrying  in,  afraid 
that  Miss  Franklin  was  ill.  "  Call  Felicite,"  ordered 
Dolly.  Then  when  the  two  returned  together,  the 
sallow  Frenchwoman  muffled  in  a  pink  shawl,  Dolly 
said :  "  Mrs.  Chase  has  gone  off  for  an  early  ride. 
I  dare  say  that  she  thought  it  would  be  amusing  to 
take  me  by  surprise."  And  she  laughed.  But  that 
there  was  anger  underneath  her  laugh  was  very  evi 
dent.  "  Felicite,  go  down  and  see  if  I  am  not  right," 
she  went  on.  "  I  think  you  will  find  that  her  horse 
is  gone." 

Her  acting  was  so  perfect  —  the  feigned  mirth, 
with  the  deep  annoyance  visible  beneath  it  —  that 
the  two  maids  were  secretly  much  entertained  ;  Mrs. 
Chase's  escapade  and  her  sharp-eyed  sister's  discom 
fiture  were  in  three  minutes  known  to  everybody  in 
the  house.  "  Your  mademoiselle,  she  tr'ry  to  keep 
my  young  madame  a  leetle  too  tight,"  commented 
Felicite  in  confidence  to  Miss  Pollikett. 

Dolly,  having  set  her  story  going,  went  through 
the  form  of  eating  her  breakfast.  Then,  as  soon  as 
she  could,  without  seeming  to  be  in  too  great  haste, 
she  drove  oif  in  her  own  phaeton,  playing  to  the  end 
her  part  of  suppressed  vexation. 

She  was  on  her  way  to  The  Lodge.  It  was  a  long 
drive,  and  the  road  was  rough ;  the  gait  of  her  old 
pony  was  never  more  than  slow ;  but  she  had  not 
dared  to  take  a  faster  horse,  lest  the  unusual  act 
should  excite  surprise.  "  Oh,  Prosper,  do  go  on  !" 


383 


she  kept  saying,  pleadingly,  to  the  pony.  But  with 
all  her  effort  it  was  two  o'clock  before  she  reached 
Crumb's,  Prosper's  jog-trot  being  hardly  faster  than  a 
walk. 

As  the  farm-house  at  last  came  into  sight,  she 
brushed  away  her  tears  of  despair  and  summoned  a 
smile.  "  My  sister  is  here,  or  she  has  been  here, 
hasn't  she  ?"  she  said,  confidently,  to  Mrs.  Crumb, 
who,  at  the  sound  of  the  wheels,  had  come  to  the 
door. 

"  Yes,  -she's  been  yere.  She's  gone  for  a  walk," 
Portia  answered.  "  She  left  her  mare ;  but  she 
wouldn't  stop  to  eat  anything,  though  she  must  have 
quit  town  mortial  early." 

"Oh,  she  had  breakfast  before  she  started,"  lied 
Dolly,  carelessly.  "  And  I  have  brought  lunch  with 
me ;  we  are  to  eat  it  together.  But  I  am  very  late 
in  getting  here,  my  fat  old  pony  is  so  slow  i  Which 
way  has  she  gone  ?" 

"  Straight  down  the  road,"  replied  Portia.  "  An' 
when  you  find  her,  I  reckon  you'd  both  better  be 
thinkin'  of  gettin'  todes  home  befo'  long.  For  the 
fine  weather's  about  broke  ;  there's  a  change  comin'." 

"  Down  the  road — yes,"  thought  Dolly.  "  But  as 
soon  as  she  was  out  of  sight  she  went  straight  up  the 
mountain  !  Oh,  if  I  could  only  do  it  too !  It  is  so 
much  shorter."  But  as  she  feared  her  weak  ankle 
might  fail,  all  she  could  do  was  to  drive  up  by  the 
new  road,  the  road  which  Nicholas  Willoughby  had 
built  through  the  ravine  below.  She  went  on,  there- 


384 


fore  ;  there  were  still  three  miles  to  cover  before  this 
new  road  turned  off. 

It  was  the  only  well-made  carriage  -  track  in  the 
county.  First  it  followed  the  ravine,  crossing  and 
recrossing  the  brook  at  its  bottom  ;  then,  leaving  the 
gorge  behind,  it  wound  up  the  remainder  of  the  as 
cent  in  long  zigzags  like  those  of  the  Alpine  passes. 
The  breeze,  which  had  stirred  the  curtains  of  The 
Lodge  when  Ruth  was  standing  in  the  thicket,  had 
now  grown  into  a  wind,  and  clouds  were  gathering. 
But  Dolly  noticed  nothing.  Reaching  the  new  road 
at  last,  she  began  the  ascent. 

When  about  a  third  of  the  way  up,  she  thought 
she  heard  the  sound  of  wheels  coming  down.  The 
zigzag  next  above  hers  was  fringed  with  trees,  so 
that  she  could  see  nothing,  but  presently  she  distin 
guished  the  trot  of  two  horses.  Was  it  Ruth  with 
Walter  Willoughby  ?  Were  they  already  taking 
flight?  Fiercely  Dolly  turned  her  phaeton  straight 
across  the  road  to  block  the  way.  "  She  shall  never 
pass  me.  I  will  drag  her  from  him !"  The  bend  of 
the  zigzag  was  at  some  distance  ;  she  waited,  motion 
less,  listening  to  the  wheels  above  as  they  came  nearer 
and  nearer.  Then  round  the  curve  into  view  swept 
a  pair  of  horses  and  a  light  carriage.  The  top  of  the 
carriage  was  down ;  she  could  see  that  it  held  four 
persons ;  on  the  back  seat  was  a  portly  man  with 
gray  hair,  and  with  him  a  comfortable-looking  elder 
ly  lady ;  in  front  was  a  tall,  fair-haired  girl,  and  by 
her  side — Walter  Willoughby. 


385 


In  the  first  glance  Dolly  had  recognized  Walter's 
companions.  And  the  radiant  face  of  Marion  Bar 
clay,  so  changed,  so  happy,  told  her  all.  She  drew 
her  pony  straight,  and,  turning  out  a  little  so  as  to 
make  room,  she  passed  them  with  a  bow,  and  even 
with  a  smile. 

Walter  seemed  astonished  to  see  her  there.  But 
he  had  time  to  do  no  more  than  return  her  salutation, 
for  he  was  driving  at  a  sharp  pace,  and  the  descent 
was  steep.  He  looked  back.  But  her  pony  was 
going  steadily  up  the  zigzag,  and  presently  turning 
the  bend  the  phaeton  disappeared. 

"  This  road  leads  only  to  The  Lodge ;  I  cannot 
imagine  why  Miss  Franklin  is  going  there  now,"  he 
commented.  "  Or  what  she  is  doing  here  in  any 
case,  so  far  from  L'llommedieu." 

"L'Hommcdien?  WThat  is  that?  Oh  yes,  I  re 
member;  Anthony  Etlicridge  told  me  that  the  Frank 
lins  had  a  place  with  that  name  (Huguenot,  isn't  it  ?) 
in  the  North  Carolina  mountains  somewhere,"  re 
marked  Mrs.  Barclay.  "  What  has  become,  by-the- 
way,  of  the  pretty  sister  who  married  your  uncle's 
partner,  Horace  Chase  ?  She  wasn't  in  Newport  this 
summer.  Is  she  abroad  ?" 

"  No.  But  she  is  going  soon,"  Walter  answered. 
"  My  last  letter  from  my  uncle  mentioned  that  Chase 
was  in  New  York,  and  that  he  had  taken  passage  for 
himself  and  his  wife  in  the  Cunarder  of  next  Wednes 
day." 

"  Dear  me !  those  clouds  certainly  look  threaten- 

25 


386 


ing,"  commented  Mrs.  Barclay,  forgetting  the  Chases, 
as  a  treeless  space  in  front  gave  her  for  a  moment  a 
wider  view  of  the  sky. 

It  was  this  change  in  the  weather  which  had  al 
tered  their  plans.  Nicholas  Willoughby's  mountain 
perch,  though  an  ideal  spot  when  the  sky  was  blue, 
would  be  dreary  enough  in  a  long  autumn  storm  ; 
the  Barclays  and  their  prospective  son-in-law  were 
therefore  hastening  back  to  the  lowlands. 

Dolly  reached  the  summit.  And  as  the  road 
brought  her  nearer  to  The  Lodge,  she  was  assailed 
by  sinister  forebodings.  The  first  enormous  relief 
which  had  filled  her  heart  as  she  read  the  story  told 
by  the  carriage,  was  now  darkened  by  dread  of  an 
other  sort.  If  Ruth  too  had  seen  Marion,  if  Ruth 
too  had  comprehended  all — where  was  she  ?  From 
the  untroubled  countenances  of  the  descending  party, 
Dolly  was  certain  that  they,  at  least,  had  had  no 
glimpse  of  Ruth  ;  no,  not  even  Walter.  Dolly  be 
lieved  that  men  were  capable  of  every  brutality. 
But  Walter's  expression,  when  he  returned  her  bow, 
had  not  been  that  of  assumed  unconsciousness,  or 
assumed  anything;  there  was  no  mistaking  it  —  he 
was  happy  and  contented ;  he  looked  as  though  he 
were  enjoying  the  rapid  motion  and  his  own  skilful 
driving,  but  very  decidedly  also  as  though  all  the 
rest  of  his  attention  was  given  to  the  girl  by  his  side. 
"  He  has  not  even  seen  her !  And  he  cares  noth 
ing  for  her  ;  it  is  all  a  mistake !  Now  let  me  only 
find  her  and  get  her  home,  and  no  one  shall  ever 


387 


know !"  Dolly  had  said  to  herself  with  inexpressible  re 
lief.  But  then  had  followed  fear :  could  she  find  her  ? 
When  the  chimneys  of  The  Lodge  came  into  sight 
she  drove  her  pony  into  the  woods  and  tied  him  to 
a  tree.  Then  she  approached  the  house  cautiously, 
going  through  the  forest  and  searching  the  carpet  of 
fallen  leaves,  trying  to  discover  the  imprint  of  foot 
steps.  "  If  she  came  here  (and  I  know  she  did),  is 
there  any  place  from  which,  herself  concealed,  she 
could  have  had  a  glimpse  of  Marion  ?  That  thicket, 
perhaps  ?  It  stretches  almost  to  the  veranda."  And 
limping  to  this  copse,  Dolly  examined  its  outer  edge 
closely,  inch  by  inch.  She  found  two  places  where 
there  was  a  track  ;  evidently  some  one  had  entered 
at  one  of  the  points,  and  penetrated  to  a  certain  dis 
tance  ;  then  had  come  out  in  a  straight  line,  back 
ward.  Dolly  entered  the  thicket  herself  and  followed 
this  track.  It  brought  her  to  a  spot  whence  she  had 
a  clear  view  of  the  veranda.  All  signs  of  occupation 
were  already  gone ;  the  chairs  and  tables  had  been 
carried  in,  the  windows  had  been  closed  and  barred. 
"  If  she  stood  here  and  saw  them,  and  then  if  she 
moved  backward  and  got  herself  out,"  thought  Dolly, 
"  where  did  she  go  next  ?"  When  freed  from  the 
thicket,  she  knelt  down  and  looked  along  the  surface 
of  the  ground,  her  eyes  on  a  level  with  it ;  she  had 
seen  the  negroes  find  small  articles  in  that  way  —  a 
button,  or  even  a  pin.  After  changing  her  place  two 
or  three  times,  she  thought  she  discerned  a  faint  in 
dication  of  footsteps,  and  she  followed  this  possible 


388 


trail,  keeping  at  some  distance  from  it  at  one  side  so 
that  it  should  not  be  effaced,  and  every  now  and  then 
stooping  to  get  another  view  of  it,  horizontally.  For 
the  signs  were  so  slight  that  it  was  difficult  to  see 
them — nothing  but  a  few  leaves  pressed  down  a  little 
more  than  the  others,  here  and  there.  The  trail  led 
her  to  the  edge  of  the  plateau.  And  here  at  last 
was  something  more  definite — flattened  herbage,  and 
a  small  sapling  bent  over  the  verge  and  broken,  as 
though  some  one  had  borne  a  weight  upon  it.  "  She 
let  herself  slip  over  the  edge,"  thought  Dolly.  "  She 
is  down  there  in  the  woods  somewhere.  Oh,  how 
shall  I  find  her  !" 

The  October  afternoon  would  be  drawing  to  its 
close  before  long,  and  this  evening  there  would  be 
no  twilight,  for  black  clouds  were  covering  the  sky, 
and  the  wind  was  beginning  to  sway  the  boughs  of 
the  trees  above.  In  spite  of  her  lameness,  Dolly  let 
herself  down  over  the  edge.  There  was  no  time  to 
lose  ;  she  must  find  her  sister  before  dark. 

The  slope  below  was  steep;  she  tried  to  check 
her  sliding  descent,  but  she  did  not  succeed  in  stop 
ping  herself  until  her  clothes  had  been  torn  and  her 
body  a  good  deal  bruised.  When  at  last  her  slide 
was  arrested,  she  began  to  search  the  ground  for  a 
second  trail.  But  if  there  had  been  one,  the  leaves 
obscured  it ;  not  only  were  they  coming  down  in 
showers  from  above,  but  the  wind  every  now  and 
then  scooped  up  armfuls  of  those  already  fallen,  and 
whirled  them  round  and  round  in  eddying  spirals. 


389 


Keeping  the  peeled  sapling  above  her  as  her  guide, 
Dolly  began  to  descend,  going  first  to  the  right  for 
several  yards,  then  to  the  left,  and  pausing  at  the 
end  of  each  zigzag  to  examine  the  forest  beyond. 
With  her  crippled  ankle  her  progress  was  slow. 
She  lost  sight,  after  a  while,  of  the  sapling.  But  as 
she  had  what  is  called  the  sense  of  locality,  she  was 
still  able  to  keep  pretty  near  the  imaginary  line 
which  she  was  trying  to  follow.  For  her  theory  was 
that  Ruth  had  gone  straight  down;  that,  once  out  of 
sight  from  that  house,  she  had  let  herself  go.  Light 
though  she  was  on  her  feet,  she  must  have  ended  by 
falling,  and  then,  if  there  was  a  second  ledge  below — 
u  But  I  won't  think  of  that !"  Dolly  said  to  herself, 
desperately. 

She  was  now  so  far  from  the  house  that  she  knew 
she  could  not  be  heard.  She  therefore  began  to 
call  "  Ruth  !  Ruth  !"  But  there  was  no  reply.  "  I 
will  count,  and  every  time  I  reach  a  hundred  I  will 
call.  Oh  why,  just  this  one  day,  should  it  grow 
dark  so  early,  after  weeks  of  the  clearest  twilight  ?" 
Drops  began  to  fall,  and  finally  the  rain  caine 
down  in  torrents.  She  crouched  beside  a  large  tree, 
using  its  trunk  as  a  protection  as  much  as  she 
could.  Her  hat  and  jacket  were  soon  wet  through, 
but  she  did  not  think  of  herself,  she  thought  only 
of  Ruth — Ruth,  who  had  been  fading  for  months — 
Ruth,  out  in  this  storm.  "  But  I'll  find  her  and  take 
her  back.  And  no  one  shall  ever  know,"  thought 
the  elder  sister,  determinedly. 


390 


After  what  seemed  a  long  time  the  rain  grew  less 
dense.  The  instant  she  could  see  her  way  Dolly  re 
sumed  her  search.  The  ground  was  now  wet,  and 
her  skirts  were  soon  stained  as  she  moved  haltingly 
back  and  forth,  holding  on  by  the  trees.  "  Ruth  ! 
Ruth  ?"  At  the  end  of  half  an  hour,  when  it  was 
quite  dark,  she  came  to  a  hollow  lined  with  bushes. 
She  hesitated,  but  her  determination  to  make  her 
search  thorough  over  every  inch  of  the  ground 
caused  her  to  let  herself  down  into  it  by  sense  of 
feeling,  holding  on  as  well  as  she  could  by  the 
bushes. 

And  there  at  the  bottom  was  the  body  of  her 
sister. 

"  0  God,  don't  let  her  be  dead  !"  she  cried,  aloud. 
Drying  the  palm  of  her  hand,  she  unbuttoned  the 
soaked  riding-habit  and  felt  for  the  heart.  At  first 
there  seemed  to  be  no  beating.  Then  she  thought 
she  perceived  a  faint  throb,  but  she  could  not  be 
sure ;  perhaps  it  was  only  her  intense  wish  trans 
ferred  to  the  place.  Ruth's  hat  was  gone,  her  hair 
and  her  cold  face  were  soaked.  "  If  I  could  only  see 
her !  Poor,  poor  little  girl !"  said  Dolly,  sobbing 
aloud. 

Presently  it  began  to  rain  again  with  great  vio 
lence  ;  and  then  Dolly,  in  a  rage,  seated  herself  on 
the  soaked  ground  at  the  bottom  of  the  hollow,  took 
her  sister's  lifeless  form  in  her  arms,  and  held  it 
close.  "  She  is  not  dead,  for  she  isn't  heavy  ;  she  is 
If  she  had  been  dead  I  couldn't  have  lifted 


391 


her."  She  dried  Ruth's  face.  She  began  to  chafe 
her  temples  and  breast.  After  half  an  hour  she 
thought  she  perceived  more  warmth,  and  her  cramped 
arm  redoubled  its  effort.  The  rain  was  coming  down 
in  sheets,  but  she  did  not  mind  it  now,  for  she  felt 
a  breath,  a  sigh.  "  Ruth,  do  you  know  me  ?  It  is 
Dolly  ;  no  one  but  Dolly." 

Ruth's  eyes  opened,  though  Dolly  could  not  see 
them.  Then  she  said,  "  Dolly,  he  loves  some  one 
else."  That  was  all ;  she  did  not  speak  again. 

The  storm  kept  on,  and  they  sat  there  together, 
motionless.  Ruth's  clothes  were  so  wet  that  they 
were  like  lead.  At  length  the  black  cloud  from  which 
that  especial  deluge  had  come  moved  away,  and  fit 
ful  moonlight  shone  out.  Now  came  the  anxious 
moment:  would  Ruth  be  able  to  walk? 

At  first  it  seemed  as  if  she  could  not  even  rise, 
her  whole  body  was  so  stiff.  She  was  also  extreme 
ly  weak ;  she  had  eaten  nothing  since  the  night  be 
fore,  and  the  new  life  which  had  inspired  her  was 
utterly  gone.  But  Dolly,  somehow,  made  herself 
firm  as  iron ;  standing,  she  lifted  her  sister  to  her 
feet  and  held  her  upright  until,  little  by  little,  she 
regained  breath  enough  to  take  one  or  two  steps. 
Then  slowly  they  climbed  from  the  hollow.  With 
many  pauses  they  went  down  the  mountain  ;  from 
this  point,  fortunately,  its  slope  was  not  quite  so 
steep.  How  she  did  it  Dolly  never  knew,  but  the 
moment  came  at  last  when  she  saw  a  lighted  win 
dow,  and  made  her  way  towards  it.  And  the  final 


392 


moment  also  came  when  she  arrived  at  a  door.  Her 
arm  was  still  supporting  her  pale  young  sister,  who 
leaned  against  her.  Ruth  had  not  spoken ;  she 
had  moved  automatically ;  her  senses  were  half 
torpid. 

The  lighted  window  was  that  of  Portia  Crumb. 
Portia  had  not  gone  to  bed.  But  she  was  not  sit 
ting  up  on  their  account;  she  supposed  that  they 
had  found  shelter  at  one  of  several  small  houses  that 
were  scattered  along  the  river  road  in  the  direction 
which  they  had  taken.  She  was  sitting  up  in  order 
to  minister  to  her  "  Dave."  David  Crumb's  fits  of 
drunkenness  generally  lasted  through  two  days. 
When  he  came  to  himself,  his  first  demand  was  for 
coffee,  and  his  wife,  who  never  could  resist  secretly 
sympathizing  a  little  with  the  relief  which  her  surly 
husband  was  able  to  obtain  for  a  time  from  the  grief 
which  gnawed  incessantly  at  her  own  poor  heart — 
his  wife  always  remained  within  call  to  give  him 
whatever  he  needed.  And,  oddly  enough,  these 
vigils  had  become  almost  precious  to  Portia.  For 
occasionally  at  these  moments  David  of  his  own  ac 
cord  would  talk  of  his  lost  boys — the  only  times  he 
ever  mentioned  them  or  permitted  his  wife  to  do  so. 
And  now  and  then  he  would  allow  her  to  read  her 
Bible  to  him,  and  even  to  sing  a  hymn  perhaps,  to 
which  he  would  contribute  in  snatches  a  growling 
repentant  bass. 

Portia's  coffee-pot  now  stood  on  the  hot  coals  of 
her  kitchen  fireplace  ;  she  had  been  occupying  the 


393 


time  in  spinning,  and  in  chanting  softly  to  herself, 
as  the  rain  poured  down  outside  : 


-f^^^Ei—  —  3=rzi>-Eil3ii3^3ii^.=SiEizi^z:pzr^z?i—  3 
=:6-a!=E  --  *-*—  g=b  ----  •-*  -  a=Ep—  ^,-^-p-g-j 

Je  -  ru  -  sa-lem,  my  hap-py  /tome,  Nameev-er  de-ar  tu 


7?^,  When   shell   my   la  -  ter  -  rs    hev     an    end  ?  Thy 

joys  when  shell  I  see  ?  Thy-y  joys  when  shell-el  1    see? 

Then,  hearing  some  one  at  the  outer  door,  she  had 
come  to  open  it. 

"GoodLors!  Miss  Dolly  !  Here!  —  lemme  help 
you  !  Bring  her  right  into  the  kitchen,  an'  put  her 
down  on  the  £iat  clost  to  the  fire  till  I  get  her  wet 
close  off!" 


CHAPTER    XXIV 

HORACE  CHASE,  having  by  hard  work  arranged 
his  far-stretching  affairs  so  that  he  could  leave  them, 
reached  L'Hommedieu  late  in  the  evening  of  the  day 
of  Ruth's  flight.  He  had  not  telegraphed  that  he 
was  coming ;  his  plan  was  to  have  his  wife  well  on 
her  way  to  New  York  and  the  Liverpool  steamer  al 
most  before  she  knew  it.  She  had  always  been  fond 
of  the  unexpected ;  this  fondness  would  perhaps 
serve  him  now.  When  he  reached  the  old  house,  to 
which  his  money  had  given  a  new  freshness,  there 
was  no  one  to  meet  him  but  Dolly's  Diana.  Diana, 
in  her  moderate,  unexcited  way,  began  to  tell  him 
what  had  happened.  But  she  was  soon  re-enforced 
by  Felicite,  whose  ideas  (regarding  the  same  events) 
were  far  more  theoretic. 

"Miss  Franklin  had  a  lunch  prepared,  and  took  it 
with  her,"  Diana  went  on. 

"  Eet  ended  in  a  peekneek,"  interrupted  Felicite. 
"  The  leaf  was  so  red,  and  the  time  so  beautiful, 
monsieur ;  no  clouds,  and  the  sky  of  a  blue  !  Then 
suddenlee  the  rain  ees  come.  No  doubt  they  have 
entered  in  a  house  to  wait  till  morning." 

"  Which  road  did  my  wife  take  ?"  inquired  Chase, 
his  tone  anxious. 


395 


"  Ah,  monsieur,  no  one  see  herr,  she  go  so  early. 
Eet  was  herr  joke — to  escape  a  leetle  from  herr  sis- 
tare,  if  eet  is  permit  to  say  eet;  pardon." 

"  Which  way,  then,  did  Miss  Franklin  go  3"  con 
tinued  Chase,  impatiently. 

Both  women  pointed  towards  the  left.  "  She 
went  down  the  street.  That  way." 

"Down  the  street?  That's  no  good.  What  I 
want  to  know  is  which  road  she  took  after  leaving 
town  ?" 

But  naturally  neither  Felicite  nor  Miss  Pollikett 
could  answer  this  question ;  they  had  not  followed 
the  phaeton. 

Chase  rang  the  bell,  and  sent  for  one  of  the  stable 
men.  "  Let  Pompey  and  Zip  go  and  ask  at  all  the 
last  houses  (where  the  three  roads  that  can  be 
reached  from  the  end  of  this  street  turn  off)  whether 
any  one  noticed  Miss  Franklin  drive  past  this  morn 
ing?  They  all  know  her  pony  and  trap.  Tell 
Pompey  to  step  lively,  and  if  the  people  have  gone 
to  bed,  he  must  knock  'em  up." 

The  two  negroes  returned  in  less  than  fifteen 
minutes ;  they  had  found  the  trace  without  trouble : 
Miss  Franklin  had  taken  the  river  road  towards 
Warm  Springs. 

"  Saddle  my  horse,"  said  Chase  ;  "  and  you,  Jeff, 
as  soon  as  I  have  started,  put  the  pair  in  the  light 
carriage  arid  drive  down  to  Crumb's.  Have  the 
lamps  in  good  order  and  burning  brightly,  and  see 
that,  the  curtains  are  buttoned  down  so  as  to  keep 


396 


the  inside  dry.  Felicity,  put  in  shawls  and  what- 
ever's  necessary ;  the  ladies  are  no  doubt  under 
cover  somewhere ;  but  they  may  have  got  wet  be 
fore  reaching  it.  Perhaps  one  of  you  had  better  go 
along?"  he  added,  looking  at  the  two  women  re 
flectively,  as  if  deciding  which  one  would  be  best. 

"  Yes,  sir ;  I  can  be  ready  in  a  moment,"  said 
Diana,  going  out. 

"Ah!  for  two  there  is  not  enough  place,"  mur 
mured  Felicite,  relieved. 

Chase  ate  a  few  mouthfuls  of  something  while  his 
horse  was  being  saddled ;  then,  less  than  half  an 
hour  after  his  arrival,  he  was  off  again.  It  was  very 
dark,  but  he  did  not  slacken  his  speed  for  that,  nor 
for  the  rough,  stony  ascents  and  descents,  nor  for 
the  places  where  the  now  swollen  river  had  over 
flowed  the  track.  The  distance  which  Dolly's  slow 
old  pony  had  taken  five  hours  to  traverse,  this  hard 
rider  covered  in  less  than  half  the  time.  At  one 
o'clock  he  reached  Crumb's.  It  was  the  first  house 
in  that  direction  after  the  village  and  its  outskirts 
had  been  left  behind.  Along  the  mile  or  two  be 
yond  it,  farther  towards  the  west,  were  three  smaller 
houses,  and  at  one  of  the  four  he  hoped  to  find  his 
wife.  As  he  drew  near  Crumb's,  he  saw  that  the 
windows  were  lighted.  "  They're  here  !"  he  said  to 
himself,  with  a  long  breath  of  relief.  As  he  rode 
up  to  the  porch,  Portia,  who  had  heard  his  horse's 
footsteps,  looked  out. 

"  They're  here  ?"  he  asked. 


397 


"  Yes,"  answered  Portia,  "  they  be." 

"  And  all  right  ?" 

"  I  reckon  so,  by  this  time.  Mis'  Chase,  she  was 
pretty  well  beat  when  she  first  come  ;  but  she's 
asleep  now,  an'  restin'  well.  And  Miss  Dolly,  she's 
asleep  too." 

Chase  dismounted.  "  Can  my  horse  be  put  up  ? 
Just  call  some  one,  will  you  ?" 

"  Well,  Isrul  Porter,  who  works  here,  has  gone 
home,"  answered  Mrs.  Crumb.  "  Arter  Mis'  Chase 
and  Miss  Dolly  got  yere,  I  sent  Isrul  arter  their 
pony,  what  they'd  lef  in  the  woods  more'n  two 
miles  off,  an'  he  'lowed,  Isrul  did,  that  he'd  take 
him  home  with  him  for  the  night  when  he  found 
him,  bekase  the  Porters's  house  is  nearer  than  our'n 
to  the  place  where  he  was  lef.  An'  Dave,  he  ain't 
workin'  ter-day ;  he's  ailin'  a  little.  But  /  kin  see 
to  yer  hoss." 

"  Show  a  light  and  I'll  do  it  myself,"  Chase  an 
swered,  amused  at  the  idea  of  his  leaving  such  work 
to  a  woman. 

Portia  returned  to  the  kitchen,  and  came  back 
with  a  burning  brand  of  pitch-pine,  which  gave  out 
a  bright  flare.  Carrying  this  as  a  torch,  she  led  the 
way  to  the  stable,  Chase  following  with  the  horse. 
"  Your  mare,  she's  in  yere  erready,"  said  the  farm 
er's  wife,  pointing  to  Kentucky  Belle. 

Then,  as  they  went  back  to  the  house  by  the  light 
of  the  flaring  brand,  she  asked  whether  she  should 
go  up  and  wake  Ruth. 


398 


"  Yes,  and  I'll  go  along  ;  which  room  is  it?  Hold 
on,  though  ;  are  you  sure  my  wife's  asleep  ?" 

"  When  I  went  up  the  minute  before  you  come, 
she  was,  an'  Miss  Dolly  too." 

"  Well,  then,  I  guess  I  won't  disturb  'em  just  yet," 
said  Chase,  and  he  went  with  Portia  to  her  kitchen, 
where  she  brought  forward  her  rocking-chair  for  his 
use.  "  What  time  did  they  get  here  ?"  he  inquired. 

Portia,  seating  herself  on  a  three-legged  stool,  told 
what  she  knew.  As  she  was  finishing  her  story 
there  came  a  growl  from  the  dark  end  of  the  long 
room,  the  end  where  the  loom  stood.  "  It's  only 
Dave  wakin'  up,"  she  explained,  and  she  hastened 
towards  her  husband.  But  as  she  did  so  he  roared 
"  Coffee  !"  in  impatient  tones,  and,  hurrying  back, 
she  knelt  down  and  blew  up  the  fire.  "  I'm  comin', 
Dave ;  it's  all  ready,"  she  called.  Then  as  she  con 
tinued  to  work  the  bellows  quickly  she  went  on  in  a 
low  voice  to  Chase :  "  He'll  stay  awake  now  fcr  an 
hour  or  two.  An'  he'll  be  talkin',  an'  takin'  on, 
p'raps.  Mebbe  you'd  ruther  set  in  the  best  room 
for  a  whilst?  There's  a  fire;  an'  the  stairs  mount 
right  up  from  there  to  the  room  where  yer  wife's 
asleep,  so  you  kin  go  up  whenever  you  like.  Relse 
you  might  lay  down  yourself,  without  disturbin'  'em 
at  all  till  mawnin'.  There's  a  good  bed  in  the  best 
room ;  none  better." 

"  Coffee  !"  demanded  the  farmer  a  second  time,  and 
Portia  quickly  took  the  cup,  which  stood  waiting  with 
sugar  and  cream  already  in  it,  and  lifting  her  pot 


399 


from  the  coals,  poured  out  the  odorous  beverage,  the 
strong  coffee  of  Rio.  Though  she  had  an  intense  de 
sire  to  be  left  alone  with  "  Dave,"  now  that  his  pre 
cious  waking-time  had  come,  her  inborn  sense  of  hos 
pitality  would  never  have  permitted  her  to  suggest 
that  her  guest  should  leave  her,  if  she  had  not  be 
lieved  with  all  her  heart  that  her  best  room  was  real 
ly  a  bower  of  beauty ;  she  even  had  the  feeling  that 
she  ought  to  urge  it  a  little,  lest  he  should  be  unwill 
ing  to  "  use  it  common."  Chase,  perceiving  that  she 
wished  him  to  go,  went  softly  out,  and,  entering  the 
bower,  closed  the  door  behind  him.  The  fire  was  low. 
He  put  on  some  pitch-pine  splinters,  and  added  wood; 
for,  in  spite  of  his  water-proof  coat  (which  was  now 
hanging  before  the  fireplace  in  the  kitchen),  his 
clothes  were  damp.  He  lifted  the  logs  carefully,  so 
as  not  to  waken  the  sleepers  above  ;  then  he  sat  down 
and  stretched  out  his  legs  to  the  blaze.  In  spite  of 
Portia's  assertion  that  his  wife  was  "all  right,"  he 
was  very  uneasy  ;  he  could  scarcely  keep  himself 
from  stealing  up  to  get  a  look  at  her.  But  sleepless 
ness  had  been  for  so  long  one  of  her  troubles  that  he 
knew  it  was  far  wiser  to  let  her  rest  as  long  as  she 
could.  One  thought  pleased  him  ;  it  had  pleased  him 
since  the  moment  he  heard  it:  her  stealing  off  for  a 
ride  at  dawn  simply  to  tease  Dolly.  That  certainly 
looked  as  if  she  must  be  much  stronger  than  she  had 
been  when  he  left  her.  It  was  an  escapade  worthy 
of  the  days  when  she  had  been  the  frolicking  Ruth 
Franklin.  On  the  other  hand  loomed  up  the  results 


400 


of  this  freak  of  hers,  namely,  her  having  been  out  so 
long  in  the  storm.  Portia's  expression,  "  pretty  well 
beat  when  she  first  come  " — that  was  not  encourag 
ing.  Thus  he  weighed  the  possibilities,  sitting  there 
with  his  chair  tilted  back,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  re 
viving  flame.  He  knew  that  he  could  not  sleep  until 
he  had  seen  her.  Portia's  "  best  bed,"  therefore,  did 
not  tempt  him.  In  addition,  he  wished  to  wait  for 
the  carriage,  in  order  to  contrive  some  sort  of  shelter 
for  it,  and  to  assist  in  putting  up  the  horses,  since 
there  was  no 'one  else  to  do  it.  After  a  while,  with 
his  hands  clasped  behind  his  head,  he  moved  his 
chair  a  little  and  looked  vaguely  round  the  room. 
Everything  was  the  same  as  when  he  had  paid  his 
former  visit  there  during  the  excursion  which  he  had 
made  over  the  Great  Smoky  Mountains  with  the 
Franklins  and  poor  Jared.  The  red  patch-work  quilt 
was  spread  smoothly  over  the  bed ;  the  accordion 
was  on  the  mantel-piece,  flanked  by  the  vase  whose 
design  was  a  pudgy  hand  holding  a  cornucopia ;  on 
the  wall  was  the  long  row  of  smirking  fashion-plates. 
This  means  of  entertainment,  however,  was  soon  ex 
hausted,  and  after  a  while  he  took  some  memoranda 
from  his  pocket,  and,  bending  forward  towards  the 
fire,  began  to  look  them  over. 

He  had  been  thus  engaged  for  nearly  half  an  hour 
when  a  door  opened  behind  him,  and  Dolly  Franklin 
came  in. 

She  had  no  idea  that  he  was  there.  The  bedroom 
above,  whose  flight  of  steep  stairs  she  had  just  de- 


401 


scended,  possessed  windows  only  towards  the  river; 
and  the  second-story  floors  of  the  old  house  were  so 
thick  that  no  sound  from  below  could  penetrate  them. 
She  had  not  therefore  heard  Chase  ride  up  on  the 
other  side ;  she  had  not  distinguished  any  sounds  in 
the  kitchen. 

He  jumped  up  when  he  saw  her.  "  I'm  mighty 
glad  you've  come  down,  Dolly.  I've  been  afraid  to 
disturb  her.  Is  she  awake  ?" 

Dolly  closed  the  door  behind  her.  "  No ;  she  is 
sleeping  soundly.  I  wouldn't  go  up  just  now  if  I 
were  you.  A  good  sleep  is  what  she  needs  most 
of  all." 

"All  right;  I'll  wait.  But  how  in  the  world  came 
she  to  be  out  so  long  in  the  rain,  and  you  too  ?  That's 
the  part  I  don't  understand." 

Dolly's  heart  had  stood  still  when  she  saw  her 
brother-in-law.  "  I'll  sit  here  for  a  while,"  she  sug 
gested,  in  order  to  gain  time.  "Will  you  please 
pull  forward  that  chair — the  one  in  the  corner?  I 
had  no  idea  you  were  here.  I  only  came  down  for 
the  pillows  from  this  bed ;  they  are  better  than 
those  upstairs."  While  she  was  getting  out  these 
words  her  quick  mind  had  flown  back  to  L'Homme- 
dieu,  and  to  the  impression  which  she  had  left  be 
hind  her  there,  carefully  arranged  and  left  as  ex 
planation  of  their  absence.  The  explanation  had 
been  intended  for  any  of  their  friends  who  might 
happen  to  come  to  the  house  during  the  day.  But  it 
would  do  equally  well  for  Horace  Chase,  and  Feli- 


402 


cite  could  be  safely  trusted  to  have  repeated  it  to  him 
within  five  minutes  after  his  unexpected  arrival !  For 
Felicite  was  not  fond  of  Miss  Dora  Franklin.  The 
idea  that  her  young  mistress  had  gone  off  for  a  ride 
at  daylight  would  be  an  immense  delight  to  the 
Frenchwoman,  not  for  the  expedition  itself  (such 
amusements  in  a  country  so  "  sauvage  "  being  beyond 
her  comprehension),  but  for  the  annoyance  to  mad 
emoiselle —  mademoiselle  whose  watchfulness  over 
everything  that  concerned  her  sister  (even  her  sister's 
maid)  was  so  insupportably  oppressive.  Their  start, 
therefore,  Dolly  reflected,  both  Ruth's  at  dawn  and 
her  own  a  little  later,  was  probably  in  a  measure  ac 
counted  for  in  Horace  Chase's  mind.  But  as  regard 
ed  the  hours  in  the  rain,  what  could  she  invent  about 
that  ?  For  Portia  had  evidently  described  Ruth's  ex 
haustion  and  their  wet  clothes.  She  had  seated  her 
self  by  the  fire ;  arrayed  in  one  of  the  shapeless 
dresses  of  her  hostess,  with  her  hair  braided  and 
hanging  down  her  back,  her  plain  face  looked  plainer 
than  ever.  Worn  out  though  she  was,  she  had  not 
been  asleep  even  for  a  moment ;  she  had  been  sitting 
by  the  bedside  watching  her  sister.  Ruth  had  lain 
motionless,  with  her  head  thrown  back  lifelessly,  her 
breathing  scarcely  perceptible.  AVhenever  Portia 
had  peeped  in  (and  the  farmer's  wife  had  stolen 
softly  up  the  stairs  three  times)  Dolly  had  pre 
tended  to  be  asleep ;  and  she  knew  that  Portia 
would  think  that  Ruth  also  was  sleeping.  But 
Ruth  was  not  asleep.  And  Dolly's  mind  was  filled 


403 


with  apprehension.  What  would  follow  this  ap 
athy  ? 

"  As  I  understand  it,  Ruthie  took  a  notion  to  go 
off  for  a  ride  at  daybreak,"  Horace  Chase  began, 
"and  then,  after  breakfast,  you  followed  her.  How 
did  you  know  which  way  she  went  ?  I  suppose  you 
asked.  But  she  left  her  mare  here  as  early  as  half- 
past  eight  this  morning,  the  woman  of  the  house  tells 
me,  and  you  yourself  got  here  at  two ;  what  hap 
pened  afterwards  ?  How  came  you  to  stay  out  in  the 
rain  ?  Unless  you  got  lost,  I  don't  see  what  you 
were  about." 

"  We  were  lost  for  a  while,"  answered  Dolly,  who 
had  now  arranged  her  legend.  "  But  that  was  after 
wards.  Our  staying  out  was  my  fault,  or,  rather,  my 
misfortune."  She  put  out  her  feet  and  warmed  them 
calmly.  "  After  I  drove  on  from  here,  I  didn't  find 
Ruth  for  some  time.  When  at  last  I  came  upon  her, 
we  took  our  lunch  together,  and  then  I  tied  the  pony- 
to  a  tree  and  we  strolled  off  through  the  woods,  pick 
ing  up  the  colored  leaves.  Suddenly  I  had  one  of  my 
attacks.  And  it  must  have  been  a  pretty  bad  one,  for 
it  lasted  a  long  time.  How  long  I  don't  know  ;  but 
when  I  came  to  myself  it  was  dark.  Ruth,  of  course, 
couldn't  carry  me,  poor  child.  And  she  wouldn't 
leave  me.  So  there  we  stayed  in  the  rain.  And  when 
finally  I  was  able  to  move,  it  took  us  ages  to  get  here, 
for  not  only  was  I  obliged  to  walk  slowly,  but  it  was 
so  dark  that  we  couldn't  find  the  road.  I  am  all  right 
now.  But  meanwhile  she  is  dreadfully  used  up." 


404 


Here,  from  the  kitchen,  came  the  sound  of  Portia's 
gentle  voice : 

"  When  shell  these  eyes  thy  heavenly  walls 

An'  peerly  gates  behold  ? 
Thy  buildin's  with  salvation  strong, 
An'  streets  of  shinin'  gold  ? 
An'-an'  streets  of  shi-i-mV  gold !" 

"  Crumb  has  arrived  at  his  religious  stage,  and  his 
wife  is  celebrating,"  commented  Dolly.  "  He  goes 
through  them  all  in  regular  succession  every  time  he 
is  drunk.  Obstinacy.  Savagery.  Lethargy.  And 
then,  finally,  Repentance,  for  he  isn't  one  of  those 
unimportant  just  persons  who  need  none." 

Chase  glanced  at  her  with  inward  disfavor ;  cyni 
cism  in  a  woman  was  extremely  unpleasant  to  him. 
His  mental  comment,  after  she  had  explained  their 
adventures,  had  been :  "  Well,  if  Dolly  had  let  the 
whole  job  alone,  none  of  this  would  have  happened ; 
Ruth  would  have  had  her  lark  out  and  come  home  all 
right,  and  that  would  have  been  the  end  of  it.  But 
Dolly  must  needs  have  her  finger  in  the  pie,  and  out 
she  goes.  Then  of  course  she  gets  sick,  and  the  end 
is  that  instead  of  her  seeing  to  Ruth,  Ruth  has  to  see 
to  her."  But  he  kept  these  reflections  to  himself.  lie 
brought  forward  instead  the  idea  that  was  important 
to  him :  "  Isn't  it  a  pretty  good  sign  she's  better, 
that  she  wanted  to  go  off  for  a  ride  in  that  way  ?  It's 
like  the  things  she  used  to  do  when  I  first  knew  her. 
Don't  you  remember  how  she  stayed  out  so  long  that 


405 


cold,  windy  niglit  without  her  hat,  talking  with  Mala- 
chi  Hill  over  the  back  fence  about  his  Big  Moose 
masquerade  ?  And  how  she  even  went  on,  bare 
headed  and  in  the  dark,  half  across  the  village  to  find 
Achilles  Larue  and  get  him  to  come,  so  that  she  could 
tease  Miss  Billy  ?"  He  gave  a  short  laugh  over  the 
remembrance.  "  I  cannot  help  thinking,  Dolly,  that 
she  isn't  half  as  sick  as  you  made  out ;  in  fact,  I've 
never  thought  she  was,  though  I've  more  or  less 
fallen  in  with  your  idea  of  giving  her  a  change.  I 
had  made  arrangements  to  start  for  New  York  to 
morrow  morning,  so  as  to  hit  the  Cunarder  of  Wed 
nesday.  But,  as  things  have  turned  out,  I  don't  know 
that  we  need  pull  up  stakes  so  completely,  after  all. 
She's  evidently  better." 

For  one  instant  Dolly  thought.  Then  she  spoke : 
"  No,  carry  out  your  plan.  Take1  her  away  to  -  mor 
row  morning  just  as  you  intended.  Even  if  she  is 
somewhat  stronger  (though  I  think  you'll  find  that 
she  isn't),  she  needs  a  change."  She  said  this 
decidedly.  But  the  decision  was  for  her  own  sake ; 
it  was  an  effort  to  make  herself  believe,  by  the 
sound  of  the  spoken  words,  that  this  course  would 
still  be  possible.  "  It  shall  be  possible,"  she  resolved 
in  her  own  mind. 

"  Well,  I  guess  I  won't  decide  till  I  see  her,"  Chase 
answered.  "  Perhaps  she's  awake  by  this  time  ?" 

Dolly  got  up  quickly.  "  I  will  go  and  see  ;  my 
step  is  lighter  than  yours.  If  I  do  not  come  back, 
that  will  mean  that  she  is  still  asleep,  and  that  I  think 


406 


it  best  not  to  disturb  her.    The  moment  she  does  wake, 
however,  I  will  come  and  call  you.     Will  that  do  ?" 

"  All  right,"  said  Chase,  briefly,  a  second  time. 
He  did  not  especially  enjoy  the  prospect  of  several 
years  in  Europe.  But  at  least  it  would  be  agreeable 
to  have  his  wife  to  himself,  with  no  Dolly  to  meddle 
and  dictate. 

After  she  had  gone,  he  sat  expectant  for  nearly 
fifteen  minutes.  But  she  did  not  return  ;  Ruth  evi 
dently  had  not  wakened.  He  rose,  gave  a  stretch, 
and,  going  to  the  window,  raised  the  curtain  and 
looked  out.  The  rain  was  pouring  down  ;  there  was 
no  sign  of  the  carriage  ;  it  was  so  dark  that  he 
could  not  see  even  the  nearest  trees.  Dropping  the 
curtain  again,  he  walked  about  the  room  for  a  while. 
Then  he  started  to  go  to  the  kitchen,  to  see  how  his 
wet  coat  was  coming  on  ;  but  remembering  Portia's 
vigil  (which  nothing  could  have  induced  him  to 
break  in  upon,  now  that  he  understood  its  nature), 
he  stopped.  He  looked  at  all  the  simpering  ladies 
of  the  fashion  -  plates,  ladies  whose  bodies  were 
formed  on  the  model  which  seems  to  be  peculiar  to 
such  publications,  and  to  exist  only  for  them  ;  he 
lifted  the  vase  and  inspected  it  a  third  time  ;  he  even 
tried  the  accordion  softly.  Finally  he  sat  down  by 
the  fire,  and,  taking  out  his  memoranda  again,  he 
went  back  to  business  calculations. 

Dolly  had  gone  swiftly  up  the  stairs  and  along  the 
entry  which  led  to  the  bedroom.  Ruth  was  lying 
just  as  she  had  left  her,  with  her  eyes  shut,  her  head 


407 


thrown  back.  Dolly  closed  the  door  and  locked  it ; 
then  she  came  and  leaned  over  her. 

"  Ruth,  do  you  hear  me  ?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  Ruth,  mechanically. 

Dolly  sat  down  by  the  side  of  the  bed  and  drew 
her  sister  towards  her. 

"  I  havre  something  to  tell  you,"  she  whispered. 
"  Your  husband  is  down-stairs." 

Ruth  did  not  start.  After  a  moment  she  opened 
her  eyes  and  turned  them  slowly  towards  her  sister. 

"  He  came  home  unexpectedly,"  Dolly  went  on,  in 
the  same  low  tone.  "  He  reached  L'Hommedieii 
this  evening,  and  when  they  told  him  that  we  had 
not  returned  he  had  inquiries  made  as  to  the  road 
we  had  taken,  and  came  down  here  himself  on  horse 
back.  At  L'llommedieu,  Ruth,  they  think  that  you 
slipped  out  at  dawn  for  a  ride,  just  to  play  me  a 
trick,  because  I  have  watched  you  so  closely  about 
your  health  lately  that  you  were  out  of  all  patience. 
I  let  them  think  this ;  or,  rather,  I  made  them  think 
it.  And  they  have  repeated  it  to  your  husband,  who 
accepts  it  just  as  they  did.  The  only  thing  he  could 
not  understand  was  why  we  stayed  out  so  long  in  the 
storm,  for  Portia  had  evidently  told  him  how  late  it 
was  when  we  came  in,  and  how  exhausted  you  looked. 
So  I  have  just  said  that  after  I  found  you  we  had  our 
lunch  together,  and  then,  after  tying  the  pony  to  a 
tree,  we  strolled  through  the  woods,  picking  up  the 
colored  leaves.  Suddenly  one  of  my  attacks  came 
on,  and  it  was  a  bad  attack ;  I  was  unconscious  for  a 


408 


long  time.  You  wouldn't  leave  me  ;  and  so  there  we 
had  to  stay  in  the  rain.  When  at  last  I  could  walk 
I  had  to  come  slowly.  And  we  couldn't  find  the  road 
ior  a  long  while — it  was  so  dark.  All  this  seems  to 
him  perfectly  natural,  Ruth ;  he  suspects  nothing. 
The  only  point  he  is  troubled  about  is  your  health — 
how  that  will  come  out  after  the  exposure.  He  is  sit 
ting  by  the  fire  down-stairs  waiting  for  you  to  wake, 
for  I  told  him  you  were  asleep.  And  here  is  some 
thing  supremely  fortunate :  his  plan  is  to  take  you 
off  to  New  York  to-morrow  morning,  to  hit  the  Wed 
nesday's  Cunard  steamer  for  Liverpool.  He  has  had 
this  idea  for  some  weeks — the  idea  of  going  abroad. 
That  was  the  reason  he  went  away — to  make  ready. 
He  didn't  tell  you  about  it,  because  he  thought  he 
would  take  you  by  surprise.  And  he  still  hopes  to 
sail  on  Wednesday,  provided  you  are  well  enough, 
it  isn't  to  be  a  flying  trip  this  time ;  he  is  willing  to 
stay  over  there  for  years  if  you  like.  Now,  Ruth, 
listen  to  me.  You  must  go.  You  need  make  no  ef 
fort  of  any  kind ;  just  let  yourself  slip  on  from  day 
to  day,  passively.  There  is  nothing  difficult  about 
that.  If  there  were,  I  should  not  ask  you  to  do  it, 
for  I  know  you  could  never  play  a  part.  But  here 
there  is  no  part ;  you  need  do  110  more  than  you  al 
ways  have  done.  That  has  never  been  much,  for 
from  the  first  the  devotion  has  been  on  his  side,  not 
on  yours,  and  he  will  expect  no  more.  Now  try  to 
sleep  a  little,  and  then  at  sunrise  I  will  let  him  come 
up.  When  he  comes  you  needn't  talk ;  you  can  say 


409 


you  are  too  tired  to  talk.  He  is  so  uneasy  about 
your  health  that  he  will  fall  in  with  anything.  Don't 
think  about  it  any  more.  The  whole  thing's  settled." 

Suiting  her  actions  to  her  words,  Dolly  rearranged 
the  coverlet  over  her  sister,  and  then,  rising,  she  be 
gan  to  make  a  screen  before  the  fire  with  two  chairs 
and  a  blanket,  so  that  its  light  should  not  fall  across 
the  bed.  While  she  was  thus  engaged  she  heard  a 
sound,  and,  turning  her  head,  she  saw  that  Ruth  was 
getting  up. 

"What  is  it?"  she  said,  going  to  her.  "  Do  you 
want  anything  ?" 

"  Where  are  my  clothes  ?"  Ruth  asked.  She  was 
sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  her  bare  feet  resting 
on  the  rag  mat  by  its  side. 

"  Portia  is  drying  them.  She  left  some  of  her 
things  on  that  chair  for  you.  But  don't  get  up  now  ; 
the  night  isn't  anywhere  near  over." 

Ruth  went  to  the  chair  where  lay  the  garments, 
coarse  but  clean ;  she  unbuttoned  her  night-gown 
(also  one  of  Portia's).  Then  her  strength  failed,  and 
she  sank  down  on  the  chair.  "  Come  back  to  bed," 
said  Dolly,  urgently. 

Ruth  let  her  head  rest  on  the  chair-back  for  a  mo 
ment  or  two.  Then  she  said  :  "  I  won't  try  to  dress  ; 
I  don't  feel  strong  enough.  But  please  get  me  some 
stockings  and  shoes,  and  a  shawl.  That  will  be 
enough." 

"  Are  you  tired  of  the  bed  ?  I  can  make  you  com 
fortable  in  that  chair  by  the  fire,  then,"  Dolly  an- 


410 


swered.  "  Here  are  stockings.  And  slices,  too  — 
Portia's.  But  I'm  afraid  they  will  drop  off  !"  Kneel 
ing  down,  she  drew  on  the  stockings,  and  then  Ruth, 
rising,  stepped  into  the  shoes.  Dolly  went  to  spread 
a  blanket  over  the  chair,  and  while  she  was  thus  en 
gaged  Ruth,  seeing  a  homespun  dress  of  Portia's 
hanging  from  a  peg,  took  it  and  put  it  on  over  her 
night-gown. 

"  You  need  not  have  done  that,"  commented  Dolly ; 
"  here  is  a  second  blanket  to  wrap  you  up  in." 

But  Ruth  was  going  towards  the  door.  Dolly 
hurried  after  her  and  caught  her  arm.  "  You  are 
not  going  down  ?  What  for  ?" 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  Ruth,  vaguely.  Then, 
with  quickened  breath,  she  added,  "  Yes,  I  do  know  ; 
I  am  going  to  tell — tell  what  I  did."  She  was  pant 
ing  a  little ;  Dolly  could  hear  the  sound. 

The  elder  sister  held  her  tightly.  But  Ruth  did 
not  struggle,  she  stood  passive.  "  What  are  you  go 
ing  to  tell?"  Dolly  asked,  sternly.  "  What  is  there 
to  tell  ?  You  took  a  ride  ;  you  walked  in  the  forest; 
you  stood  in  a  thicket ;  you  came  back.  That  is  all. 
No  one  saw  you  ;  no  one  on  earth  knows  anything 
more.  And  there  was  nothing  more,  save  in  thought. 
Your  thoughts  are  your  own  affair,  you  are  not  re 
quired  to  tell  them  ;  it  would  be  a  strange  world  in 
deed  if  we  had  to  tell  all  our  thoughts  !  In  your  acts 
as  it  has  turned  out,  there  has  been  nothing  wrong. 
Leave  it  so,  then.  Let  it  rest." 

Ruth   did   not  reply.     But    in   her   clouded   eyes 


411 


Dolly  thought  she  read  refusal.  "  Ruth,  let  me 
judge  for  you,"  she  pleaded.  "Could  I  possibly 
advise  you  to  do  anything  that  was  not  your  best 
course  ?  Your  very  best  ?  If  you  force  an  account 
of  your  inward  feelings  upon  your  husband — who 
docs  not  ask  for  them  or  want  them — you  destroy 
his  happiness,  you  make  him  wretched.  Don't  you 
care  for  that?  If  I  have  never  liked  him — and  I 
may  as  well  confess  that  I  never  have  —  at  least  I 
know  his  devotion  to  you.  If  you  tell,  therefore,  tell 
so  unnecessarily,  it  will  be  a  great  cruelty.  Think 
of  all  he  did  for  mother !  Of  all  he  did  and  tried  to 
do  for  Jared !" 

Two  tears  welled  up  in  Ruth's  eyes.  But  she  did 
not  speak. 

"And  then  there  is  another  thing,"  Dolly  went  on. 
"  If  he  knows  the  truth,  all  the  good  in  him  will  be 
changed  to  bitterness.  And,  besides,  he  will  be  very 
harsh  to  you,  Ruth ;  he  will  be  brutal ;  and  he  will 
even  think  that  it  is  right  that  he  should  be  so.  For 
those  are  the  ideas  of — of  some  people  about  wives 
who  go  wrong."  To  the  woman  who  had  married 
Horace  Chase  Dolly  could  say  no  more.  But  if  she 
had  spoken  out  all  that  was  in  her  heart,  her  phrase 
\vould  have  been,  "  For  those  are  the  ideas  of  com 
mon  people  about  wives  who  go  wrong."  (For  to 
Dolly,  Horace  Chase's  commonness — or  what  seemed 
to  her  commonness — had  always  been  the  insupport 
able  thing.)  But  what  she  was  saying  now  about  her 
dread  of  his  possible  brutality  was  not  in  the  least  a 


412 


fiction  invented  to  influence  Ruth  ;  she  had  in  reality 
the  greatest  possible  dread  of  it. 

Ruth,  however,  seemed  either  to  have  no  fears  at 
all,  or  else  she  was  all  fear — fear  that  had  reached 
the  stage  of  torpor. 

"  Think  of  this,  too,"  urged  Dolly,  finally.  "  If 
you  tell,  have  you  the  slightest  idea  that  your  hus 
band  will  be  able  to  keep  himself  from  breaking  off 
instantly  all  relations  with  the  Willoughbys  —  with 
the  uncles  as  well  as  the  nephew  ?  And  do  you  want 
Walter  Willoughby  to  suspect — as  he  certainly  would 
suspect — the  cause  ?  Do  you  wish  this  young  fellow 
who  has  merely  played  with  you,  who  from  the  be 
ginning  has  amused  himself  at  your  expense,  and,  no 
doubt,  laughed  at  you  over  and  over  again — do  you 
wish  him  to  have  a  fresh  joke  at  the  sight  of  your 
imbittered  husband's  jealousy  ?  Is  he  to  tell  the 
whole  story  to  Marion  Barclay  ?  And  have  her  laugh 
ing  also  at  your  hopeless  passion  for  him?  —  at  the 
way  you  have  thrown  yourself  at  his  head  ?  If  you 
are  silent,  not  only  will  your  husband  be  saved  from 
all  his  wretchedness,  but  Walter  Willoughby  will 
have  no  story  to  tell !" 

For  answer,  Ruth  gave  a  moan  of  physical  weak 
ness  ;  she  did  not  try  to  free  herself  from  her  sister's 
hold ;  she  stood  motionless,  her  figure  drooping,  her 
eyes  closed.  "  Dolly,"  she  murmured,  "  if  you  keep 
on  opposing  me  —  and  my  strength  won't  hold  out 
very  long — you  will  end  by  preventing  it,  preventing 
my  telling.  But  there  is  something  you  won't  be 


413 


able  to  prevent :  I  am  so  tired  that  I  want  to  die ! 
And  I  shouldn't  be  afraid  of  that ;  I  mean,  finding 
a  way." 

Dolly's  hands  dropped. 

And  then  Ruth,  after  a  moment  more  of  delay, 
pushed  back  the  bolt,  passed  along  the  entry,  and 
began  to  go  down  the  dark  stairs.  She  went  slowly, 
a  step  at  a  time.  A  step ;  then  a  hesitation ;  then 
another  step.  Finally  she  reached  the  bottom,  and 
opened  the  door. 

Her  descent  had  been  noiseless ;  it  was  not  until 
her  hand  touched  the  latch  that  Chase  turned  his 
head.  When  he  saw  her,  he  sprang  up.  "You, 
Ruthie !"  he  exclaimed,  delightedly,  as  she  entered, 
followed,  after  a  moment,  by  the  frightened,  wretched 
Dolly.  "  Are  you  well  enough  to  be  up  ?"  He  put 
his  arm  round  her  and  kissed  her.  "  Come  to  the 
fire." 

But  Ruth  drew  herself  away ;  she  moved  off  to  a 
little  distance.  "  Wait ;  I  have  something  to  tell 
you,"  she  answered. 

"  At  any  rate,  sit  down,"  Chase  responded,  bring 
ing  the  best  arm-chair  and  placing  it  before  her.  He 
had  had  a  long  experience*  regarding  her  changing 
caprices  ;  he  never  disputed  them. 

But  she  did  not  seat  herself ;  she  only  leaned  on 
the  back  of  the  chair,  her  hands  grasping  its  top. 
"  I  did  not  take  that  ride  this  morning  for  the  reason 
you  think,"  she  began.  "  I  was  going  to  Walter 
Willoughby ;  I  knew  he  was  at  The  Lodge." 


414 


"  Well,  then,  I  wish  you  hadn't,"  replied  Chase. 
He  looked  annoyed,  but  not  angry.  "  Fellows  like 
Walter  are  conceited  enough  without  that  sort  of 
thing.  If  you  wanted  to  see  him,  you  could  have 
sent  a  note,  asking  him  to  come  to  L'llommedieu. 
Or  Dolly  could  have  written  it  for  you  ;  that  would 
have  been  the  best  way.  But  don't  stand  there  ;  sit 
down." 

Ruth  took  a  fresh  grasp  of  the  chair.  "  You  do 
not  comprehend,"  she  said,  her  voice  showing  how 
little  strength  she  had.  But  though  she  was  weak 
physically,  there  was  no  nervousness ;  she  was  per 
fectly  calm.  "  You  do  not  comprehend.  I  was  go 
ing  to  him  because  I  loved  him,  Horace.  I  have 
loved  him  for  a  long  time.  I  loved  him  so  that  I 
had  to  go  !" 

As  she  said  this  her  husband's  face  changed — 
changed  in  a  way  that  was  pitiful  to  see.  He  looked 
stunned,  stricken. 

"  I  did  not  mean  to,"  Ruth  went  on.  "  I  did  not 
know  what  it  was  at  first.  And  then — it  was  too 
late.  I  thought  he  loved  me  ;  I  was  sure  of  it.  And 
so — I  went  to  him." 

Dolly,  hurrying  forward,  laid  her  hand  restrain- 
ingly  on  Chase's  wrist.  "  He  didn't  see  her,  no  one 
saw  her.  And  she  did  no  harm,  no  harm  whatever." 

But  Chase  shook  Dolly  off  with  a  motion  of  his 
shoulder.  Ruth,  too,  paid  no  heed  to  her  sister ; 
she  looked  straight  at  her  husband,  not  defiantly, 
but  drearily ;  she  went  on  with  her  tale  almost  me- 


415 


chanically,  and  with  the  same  desperate  calmness  as 
before.  "  So  I  went  to  him ;  I  left  my  horse  here, 
and  went  up  through  the  woods.  Bat  he  had  Mari 
on  Barclay  there  ;  I  saw  her.  And  I  saw  his  face, 
the  expression  of  his  face,  as  he  talked  to  her ;  it  is 
Marion  he  loves !" 

"  I  could  have  told  you  that.  At  least  I  could 
have  told  you  that  he  has  been  trying  to  get  that 
girl  for  a  long  time,"  said  Chase,  bitterly.  "  But 
there  was  nothing  in  that  to  hold  him  back  as  re 
gards  you.  And  it  hasn't  held  him  back  ;  it  hasn't 
prevented  him  from —  But  he  shall  answer  for  this ! 
Answer  to  me"  The  rage  in  his  face  was  deep ; 
his  eyes  gleamed  ;  his  hands  were  clinched.  Dolly 
turned  cold.  "He  will  kill  Walter,"  she  thought. 
"  Oh,  what  will  he  do  to  Ruth  ?" 

Ruth  had  left  her  chair ;  she  came  and  stood  be 
fore  her  husband.  "  He  isn't  to  blame,  Horace.  I 
would  tell  you  if  he  were  ;  I  should  like  to  see  Marion 
Barclay  suffer !  But  if  you  go  to  him,  he  will  only 
laugh  at  you,  and  with  reason  ;  for  he  has  never  cared 
for  me,  and  he  has  never  even  pretended  to  care  ;  I 
see  that  now.  It  is  /  who  have  been  in  love  with 
him.  It  began  that  first  winter  we  spent  in  Florida," 
she  went  on.  She  had  returned  to  her  place  behind 
the  chair,  and  her  eyes  were  again  fixed  upon  her 
husband's  face.  u  And  when  he  told  me,  suddenly, 
that  he  was  going  to  California,  going  for  years, 
I  could  not  breathe.  Then,  when  Jared  died,  and 
mother  died,  and  you  were  so  good  to  me,  I  tried  to 


416 

forget  him.  But  as  soon  as  I  saw  him  again  I  knew 
that  it  was  of  no  use — no  sort  of  use  I" 

"  You'll  never  make  me  believe  that  he  did  nothing 
all  this  time,"  said  Chase,  savagely.  "  That  he  didn't 
profit — that  he  didn't  take  advantage — " 

But  Ruth  shook  her  head.  "  No.  Perhaps  he 
amused  himself  a  little.  Once  or  twice  he  said  a 
few  words.  But  that  was  all.  And  even  this  was 
called  out  by  me  —  by  my  love.  Left  to  himself, 
he  always  drew  back,  he  always  stopped.  But  / — 
I  never  did !  You  must  believe  me  about  this — I 
mean  about  its  having  been  my  doing.  How  can  I 
make  you  believe  it?  If  I  say  that  by  my  mother's 
memory,  by  Jared's,  what  I  have  told  you  is  true, 
will  you  believe  it  then  ?  Very  well ;  I  do  say  so." 
Exhausted,  she  put  her  face  down  upon  her  hands 
on  the  top  of  the  chair-back. 

The  firelight,  which  was  now  brilliant,  had  revealed 
her  clearly.  Her  figure  in  the  homespun  dress  looked 
wasted ;  in  her  face  there  was  now  no  beauty,  the  ir 
regularity  of  its  outlines  was  conspicuous,  the  bright 
color  was  gone,  the  eyes  were  dull  and  dead. 

Something  in  her  bowed  head  touched  Chase  keen 
ly.  A  memory  of  her  as  she  was  when  he  married 
her  came  before  him,  the  radiant  young  creature  who 
had  given  herself  to  him  so  willingly  and  so  joyously. 

"  Ruthie,  we'll  forget  it,"  he  said,  in  a  changed 
voice.  "  I  was  too  old  for  you,  I  am  afraid.  I 
ought  not  to  have  asked  you  to  marry  me.  But  it's 
done  now,  past  mending,  and  WQ  must  make  the  best 


417 


of  it.  But  we'll  begin  all  over  again,  my  poor  little 
girl."  For  his  wife  had  always  seemed  to  him  a 
child,  an  impulsive,  lovely  child ;  a  little  spoiled,  no 
doubt,  but  enchantingly  sweet  and  dear.  Her  affec 
tion  for  him,  as  far  as  it  went,  had  been  sincere ;  he 
had  comprehended  that  from  the  beginning.  And 
alluring  though  she  was  to  him  in  her  young  beauty, 
he  would  not  have  married  her  without  it ;  her  con 
sent,  even  her  willing  consent,  would  not  have  been 
enough.  And  now  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  could 
go  back  to  that  girlish  liking,  that  he  could  foster  it 
and  draw  it  out.  He  had  not  protected  her  from 
her  own  fancies,  he  had  not  guarded  her  or  guided 
her.  Now  he  would  make  her  more  a  part  of  his 
life ;  he  would  no  longer  think  of  her  as  a  child. 

He  had  come  to  her  as  he  spoke.  This  time  she 
did  not  draw  herself  away  ;  but,  looking  at  him  with 
the  same  fixed  gaze,  she  went  on.  She  had  been 
speaking  slowly,  but  now  her  words  came  pouring 
forth  in  a  flood  as  though  she  felt  that  it  was  the 
only  way  in  which  she  could  get  them  spoken  at  all ; 
each  brief  phrase  was  hurried  out  with  a  quick  pant. 

"  Oh,  you  don't  understand.  You  think  it  was  a 
fancy.  But  it  wasn't,  it  wasn't ;  I  loved  him  !  I 
was  going  to  stay  with  him  forever.  I  would  have 
gone  to  the  ends  of  the  earth  with  him.  I  would 
never  have  asked  a  question.  I  hadn't  the  least  hes 
itation  ;  you  mustn't  think  that  I  had.  I  sang  to 
myself  as  I  rode  out  here,  I  was  so  happy  and  glad. 
I  didn't  care  what  became  of  you ;  I  didn't  even 

27 


418 


think  of  you.  If  ho  bad  been  alone  at  The  Lodge,  I 
should  have  gone  straight  into  his  arms.  And  you 
might  have  come  in,  and  I  shouldn't  have  minded ; 
I  shouldn't  even  have  known  you  were  there  !  From 
the  moment  I  started,  you  were  nothing  to  me— 
nothing  ;  you  didn't  exist !  I  am  as  guilty  as  a 
woman  can  be.  I  had  every  intention,  every  inclina 
tion.  What  was  lacking  was  his  will ;  but  never 
mine  !  It  was  only  twelve  hours  ago.  I  haven't 
changed  in  that  time.  The  only  change  is  that  now 
I  know  he  doesn't  care  for  me.  I  would  have  ac 
cepted  anything — yes,  anything.  It  was  only  twelve 
hours  ago,  and  if  he  had  been  alone  at  The  Lodge, 
whether  he  really  loved  rne  or  not,  he  would  not 
have — turned  me  out." 

"  No  ;  damn  him  !"  answered  Chase. 

"  Arid  /  should  have  been  glad  to  stay,"  Ruth  con 
cluded,  inflexibly. 

Her  husband  turned  away.  It  was  a  strong  man's 
anguish.  He  sat  down  by  the  fire,  his  face  covered 
by  his  hands. 

Into  the  pause  there  now  came  again  the  strains 
of  Portia's  hymn  in  the  kitchen — that  verse  about 
"the  peerly  gates"  which  she  was  hopefully  sing 
ing  a  second  time  to  Dave.  Then,  in  the  silence  that 
followed,  the  room  seemed  filled  with  the  rushing 
sound  of  the  rain. 

Ruth  had  remained  motionless.  "  I  shall  never  be 
any  better,"  she  went  on  with  the  same  desperation ; 
"  I  wish  you  to  understand  me  just  as  I  really  am. 


419 


I  might  even  do  it  a  second  time  ;  I  don't  know. 
You  may  make  whatever  arrangements  you  like 
about  me.;  I  agree  to  all  in  advance.  And  now — I'll 
go."  Turning,  she  went  towards  the  door  of  the 
stairway,  the  pale  Dolly  joining  her  in  silence. 

Then  Horace  Chase  got  up.  His  face  showed  how 
profoundly  he  had  suffered ;  it  was  changed,  changed 
for  life.  "  After  all  this  that  you've  told  me,  Ruth, 
I  don't  press  myself  upon  you — I  never  shall  again  ; 
I  couldn't;  that's  ended.  You  haven't  got  any  father 
or  mother,  and  you're  very  young  yet ;  so  I  shall 
have  to  see  to  you  for  the  present.  But  it  can  be 
done  from  a  distance,  and  that's  the  way  I'll  fix  it. 
You  mustn't  think  I  don't  feel  this  thing  because  I 
don't  say  much.  It  just  about  kills  me  !  But  as  to 
condemning,  coming  down  on  you  out  and  out,  I 
don't  do  it,  I  haven't  got  the  cheek !  Who  am  I 
that  I  should  dare  to  ?  Have  I  been  so  faultless  my 
self  that  I  have  any  right  to  judge  you  ?"  And  as  he 
said  this,  his  rugged  face  had,  for  the  moment,  an 
expression  that  was  striking  in  its  beauty  ;  its  mixt 
ure  of  sorrow,  honesty,  and  grandeur. 

Ruth  gazed  at  him.  Then  she  gave  an  inarticulate 
entreating  cry,  and  ran  to  him. 

But  she  was  so  weak  that  she  fell,  and  Dolly 
rushed  forward. 

Horace  Chase  put  Dolly  aside — put  her  aside  for 
ever.  He  lifted  his  wife  in  his  arms,  and  silently 
bent  his  head  over  hers  as  it  lay  on  his  breast. 

THE  END 


BY  CONSTANCE  F.  WOOLSOK 

JUPITER  LIGHTS.     16mo,  Cloth,  $1  25. 
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ANNE.     Illustrated.     16mo,  Cloth,  $1  25. 
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There  is  a  certain  bright  cheerfulness  in  Miss  Woolson's  writing 
which  invests  all  her  characters  with  lovable  qualities.—  Jewish  Advo 
cate,  N.  Y. 

Miss  Woolson  is  among  our  few  successful  writers  of  interesting 
magazine  stories,  and  her  skill  and  power  are  perceptible  in  the  de 
lineation  of  her  heroines  no  less  than  in  the  suggestive  pictures  of 
local  life.— Jewish  Messenger,  N.  Y. 

Constance  Fenimore  Woolson  may  easily  become  the  novelist  lau 
reate — Boston  Globe. 

Miss  Woolson  has  a  graceful  fancy,  a  ready  wit,  a  polished  style,  and 
conspicuous  dramatic  power;  while  her  skill  in  the  development  of  a 
story  is  very  remarkable.—  London  Life. 

Miss  Woolson  never  once  follows  the  beaten  track  of  the  orthodox 
novelist,  but  strikes  a  new  and  richly-loaded  vein,  which  so  far  is  all 
her  own ;  and  thus  we  feel,  on  reading  one  of  her  works,  a  fresh  sen 
sation,  and  we  put  down  the  book  with  a  sigh  to  think  our  pleasant 
task  of  reading  it  is  finished.  The  author's  lines  must  have  fallen  to 
her  in  very  pleasant  places ;  or  she  has,  perhaps,  within  herself  the 
wealth  of  womanly  love  and  tenderness  she  pours  so  freely  into  all 
she  writes.  Such  books  as  hers  do  much  to  elevate  the  moral  tone  of 
the  day— a  quality  sadly  wanting  in  novels  of  the  time.  —  Whitehall 
Review,  London. 

PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

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Br  MAEIA  LOUISE  POOL. 

THE  TWO  SALOMES.    A  Novel.    Post  8vo,  Cloth, 

Ornamental,  $1   25. 

A  work  of  notable  power  and  artistic  feeling. — Literary 
World,  Boston. 

The  character  conceptions  of  the  story  are  all  good  and  well 
wrought  out,  the  situations  are  all  logical  and  expressive,  and 
the  interest  in  the  problem  keeps  fresh  till  the  close  of  the 
book. — Providence  Journal. 

KATHARINE  NORTH.   A  Novel.    Post  8vo,  Cloth, 

Ornamental,  $1   25. 

"  Katharine  North  "  is,  from  an  artistic  and  literary  stand 
point,  Miss  Pool's  best  work,  and  will  take  high  rank  among 
the  novels  of  the  year.  The  story  is  an  intensely  interesting 
one,  and  is  most  skilfully  constructed. — Boston  Traveller. 

MRS.  KEATS  BRADFORD.     A  Novel.     Post  8vo, 

Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1  25. 

Miss  Pool's  novels  have  the  characteristic  qualities  of  Ameri 
can  life.  They  have  an  indigenous  flavor.  The  author  is  on 
her  own  ground,  instinct  with  American  feeling  and  purpose. 
— N.  Y.  Tribune. 

ROWENY   IN   BOSTON.     A  Novel.      Post   8vo, 

Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1  25. 

Is  a  surprisingly  good  story.  ...  It  is  a  very  delicately  drawn 
story  in  all  particulars.  It  is  sensitive  in  the  matter  of  ideas 
and  of  phrase.  Its  characters  make  a  delightful  company.  It 
is  excellent  art  and  rare  entertainment. — N.  Y.  Sun. 

DALLY.     A  Novel.     Post  8vo,  Cloth,  Ornamental, 

$1   25 ;  Paper,  50  cents. 

There  is  not  a  lay  figure  in  the  book  ;  all  are  flesh  and  blood 
creations.  .  .  .  The  humor  of  "Dally"  is  grateful  to  the  sense; 
it  is  provided  in  abundance,  together  with  touches  of  pathos, 
an  inseparable  concomitant. — Philadelphia  Ledger. 


PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 
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BY  JAMES   M.  LUDLOW. 


THE  CAPTAIN  OF  THE  JANIZARIES.  A  Tale  of  the 
Times  of  Scanderbeg  aud  the  Fall  of  Constantinople. 
16mo;  Cloth,  Ornamental,  $1  50 ;  Paper,  50  cents. 

Strong  in  its  central  historical  character,  abounding  in  inci 
dent,  rapid  and  stirring  in  action,  animated  and  often  brilliant 
in  style. —  Christian  Union,  N.  Y. 

Something  new  and  striking  interests  us  in  almost  every 
chapter.  The  peasantry  of  the  Balkans,  the  training  and  gov 
ernment  of  the  Janizaries,  the  interior  of  Christian  and  Moslem 
camps,  the  horrors  of  raids  and  battles,  the  violence  of  the  Sul 
tan,  the  tricks  of  spies,  the  exploits  of  heroes,  engage  Mr.  Lud- 
low's  fluent  pen. — N.  Y.  Tribune. 

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zette. 

The  picture  of  the  life  and  manners  of  that  far-away  period 
is  carefully  and  artistically  drawn,  the  plot  is  full  of  interest, 
and  the  whole  treatment  of  the  subject  is  strikingly  original, 
and  there  is  a  dramatic  intensity  in  the  story  which  will  at  once 
remind  the  reader  of  "Ben-Hur." — Boston  Traveller. 

THAT    ANGELIC    WOMAN.      A  Novel.     16mo,  Cloth, 

Ornamental,  $1  00. 

The  plot  is  skilfully  drawn,  the  whole  story  shows  dramatic 
power,  and  the  conclusion  will  satisfy  those  readers  who  prefer 
a  happy  ending  of  an  exciting  tale. —  Observer,  N.  Y. 

Dramatic,  vivid  in  scene  and  action,  it  has  many  truthful 
touches,  and  is  written  with  the  easy  clearness  and  quick  move 
ment  familiar  to  Dr.  Ludlow's  readers. —  Cincinnati  Commer 
cial-  Gazette. 


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THE  PRINCE  OF  INDIA; 

Or,  Why  Constantinople  Fell.  By  LEW.  WALLACE, 
Author  of  "  Ben-Hur,"  "  The  Boyhood  of  Christ," 
etc.  Two  Volumes.  16mo,  Cloth,  Ornamental, 
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General  Wallace  has  achieved  the  (literary)  impossible.  lie 
has  struck  the  bull's-eye  twice  in  succession.  After  his  phe 
nomenal  hit  with  "  Ben-Hur  "  he  has  given  us,  in  "  The  Prince  of 
India,"  another  book  which  no  man  will  say  shows  the  least  fall 
ing  off.  ...  It  is  a  great  book. — N.  Y.  Tribune. 

A  great  story.  It  has  power  and  fire.  We  believe  that  it 
will  be  read  and  re-read. — N.  Y.  Sun. 

For  boldness  of  conception  this  romance  is  unique  of  its 
kind.  The  amount  of  research  shown  is  immense.  The  mere 
mise  en  scene  necessary  for  the  proper  presentation  of  the  Byz 
antine  period  alone  involves  a  life-long  study.  .  .  .  There  are 
incidents  innumerable  in  this  romance,  and  all  are  worked  up 
with  dramatic  effect. — N.  Y.  Times. 

Its  human  interest  is  so  vivid  that  it  is  one  of  those  historical 
novels  laid  down  reluctantly,  only  with  the  last  page,  with  the 
feeling  that  one  turns  away  from  men  and  women  with  whom 
for  a  while  he  lived  and  moved.  ...  A  masterly  and  great  and 
absorbing  work  of  fiction.  .  .  .  Dignity,  a  superb  conjunction  of 
historical  and  imaginative  material,  the  movement  of  a  strong 
river  of  fancy,  an  unfailing  quality  of  human  interest,  fill  it 
overflowingly. — N.  Y.  Mail  and  Express. 

In  invention,  in  the  power  to  make  mind-irnpressions,  in 
thrilling  interest,  "  The  Prince  of  India"  is  not  inferior  to  "  Ben- 
Hur."  The  visit  to  the  grave  of  Hiram-,  King  of  Tyre,  with 
which  the  story  opens,  at  once  arouses  the  reader's  keenest 
interest,  which  culminates  in  the  closing  pages  of  the  second 
volume  with  the  downfall  of  Constantinople. — Philadelphia 
Inquirer. 

PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 
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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY, 
BERKELEY 

THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


